


Once Upon a Tuesday

by BrevitySoulWit93



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Humour, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern AU, Modern Era, Sex, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:27:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 68,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28328229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrevitySoulWit93/pseuds/BrevitySoulWit93
Summary: Merlin is a journalist looking for a story, and Arthur is a homeless man who really doesn't want to talk about it. Relationships are formed, and long buried secrets are unearthed. Who is Arthur, and how did he end up here?
Relationships: Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 109
Kudos: 208





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So I started this story over a year ago, forgot about it and stumbled across it again a couple of days ago. It's an idea I'm really taken with and I've finally figured out where to take it SO here we go! This is going to be quite a long multi-chapter fic, and ratings/warnings/characters/tags will be updated as we go. I'm so excited to share this with all of you! I'm unsure as to when I'll be updating but we shall try and keep it nice and regular! 
> 
> This work is un-beta'd; any mistakes are my own. If you like, please do leave a comment/kudo! 
> 
> Disclaimer: Of course I don't own Merlin. It belongs to Shine/BBC.

Merlin ducked his head, hugging his jacket closer around his body and twisting madly to avoid the rain pelting like bullets from the steely sky overhead. In a single long-legged bound he leapt over the deep puddle just outside the door of his favourite cafe and teetered a little before righting himself and dodging inside. The sudden burst of heat made the lenses of his glasses steam up - it took him several bumbling moments of bumping into furniture before he found an empty table and slid into the seat by the window.

Gwen, the waitress on duty (and, incidentally, good friend of his), noticed him immediately and within moments Merlin had a cup of steaming hot breakfast tea in front of him. He nodded his thanks and allowed the warmth of the shop to seep into his bones. Cracking his knuckles absentmindedly, Merlin shrugged off his backpack and pulled out his laptop, ready to stare at a blank page for two hours hoping blindly for inspiration while probably checking Instagram more often than typing words.

Turning his head to stare out of the window, Merlin was as always struck by how bizarre the people of London were. Swarms of commuters poured out of London Bridge tube station, most of them looking like they wished some kind of celestial being would smite them where they stood, simply to spare them another day of their spirit being crushed by whichever corporate body they were unfortunate enough to slave for. One young woman with a shock of curly hair fiddled with the crimson scarf tied around her head, grinning as she checked her phone and adjusted her blouse. For a moment she paused, digging into her jacket pocket. With a small smile she bent down and popped some coins in front of a homeless man huddled in the doorway opposite. Up until this point Merlin hadn’t noticed him, and he sat a little straighter in his chair for the small act of kindness. The man didn’t speak nor smile, only gave a weary sort of nod and raised his hand in thanks.

He was soaked to the skin, his filthy hair sticking flat to his skull and water dripping from his scraggly beard. The man wasn’t old - possibly early thirties. Merlin watched as he leaned down to scoop the coins to him, his eyes darting to and fro as though worried one of the commuters would rob him for a measly few pounds. Even from a distance, the man’s exhaustion was apparent.   


“Gwen?” Merlin called, waving his hand without taking his eyes off the homeless man. Gwen bustled over with a smile, carrying a tray laden with empty cups and dirty plates.

“Yes, my love?” Her voice was soft and sweet, just as it had been when they were children. 

“Is Morgause around today?” 

“No, it’s Tuesday. She always goes to Kent to visit her aunt on Tuesdays - you know that.” 

Merlin pulled at his ear, finally looking his friend in the eye. “Does that mean you’re in charge?”   


“Maybe… Why?” 

Wordlessly, Merlin turned away again and pointed at the forlorn figure on the other side of the street who was now being harangued by two teenage boys waving a twenty pound note in his face, pulling it away every time he tried to reach for it. Every single passer by continued on their way, ignoring them. Gwen gasped and her tray began to rattle as she shook with anger.   


“Go and get him, if he’ll consent to come inside. I’ll pop a toastie on the grill and get another pot of tea on the go. Little runts!”

Not needing to be told twice, Merlin was out of his chair in seconds, pulling his shirt collar up against the icy wind. Disregarding the distinct possibility of being run over by a hackney cab, he dashed across the road without walking to the traffic lights, blood pounding in his ears. As he neared he could hear the jeering taunts of the two shell suited delinquents: they persisted in waving the cash in front of the homeless man’s face, even though he had desisted reaching for it and now simply sat with his head in his hands.   


“Oi!” Merlin shouted. “Away with you, you little shits!” His words sounded braver than he felt - confrontation was not his strong point, but the injustice of the scene had made his blood boil. With a start, the two boys swore and ran off, pelting into the distance without a backwards glance.   


“Thank you,” the homeless man said without raising his head. His accent was far from what Merlin had expected - it was like cut glass, clear and precise. After a moment he glanced up and made briefly made eye contact; he was much younger than he appeared from a distance, even early thirties was pushing it, he was much closer to Merlin’s own age - maybe mid to late twenties.   


“It’s not a problem,” Merlin replied lightly, running a hand through his now sopping black hair. “Would you like something warm to eat? My friend runs the cafe over the road… She’s got a cheese and ham toastie with your name on it, if you’d like.”

The man eyed him distrustfully for a moment, then his stomach gave a loud rumble. With a quirk of the mouth that could almost be mistaken for a smile, he nodded.

—

The strange pair re-entered the cafe shivering with cold, and within seconds Gwen had relieved the homeless man of his soggy coat and whirled him into the other chair by the window. In the familiar warm, fussy way of hers she busied about with plates, napkins and cups.   


“There you go, gentlemen. There’s plenty more if you’re still hungry afterwards.”   


A real smile this time, directed at Gwen’s retreating back, flashed across the man’s face before he gingerly lifted the hot toasted sandwich to his mouth and took a generous bite.

Content to let him eat in peace, Merlin looked once again at his laptop, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He’d promised his editor, Gaius, a piece of great journalism. A story that would capture the hearts of the nation, that would bring people together and get him a raise and maybe even a weekly column. Sadly, however, nothing had been forthcoming. The most heartwarming story he’d come across so far was a three legged German shepherd who had won best in show at Crufts. Charming, but hardly life changing.   


“What’s your name?”   


The question came out as more of a bark, as though the man wasn’t used to speaking to other human beings. Though his accent was fine, his voice was gruff and thick with mistrust. Understandable, Merlin thought, given as how he’d obviously been treated on the streets.   


“I’m Merlin,” he replied with gawky wave. “And you?”   


The man raised his eyebrows and picked some ham out from between his teeth with one grimy fingernail. “Arthur, if you’d believe that.” He smirked, and Merlin snorted in amusement.

“Had to be, really, didn’t you?”

Silence fell again, Merlin turning back to his screen. He could see Arthur beginning to fidget: he jiggled his legs and his eyes darted around anxiously, as though being inside was stressful and unusual for him.   


“Are you alright?” He asked quietly, a crease forming between his eyebrows. “Would you like another toastie? Some crisps? Would you prefer coffee to tea?” Arthur shook his head, picking at the shredded skin around his fingernails.   


“I should be going.”   


“Why? You just sat down.”   


“I’ll get the place dirty. I’ll get thrown out.”   


“No you won’t.”   


“Yes I will!” 

Arthur’s teeth were suddenly bared and his hands balled into fists. He breathed heavily through his nostrils, eyes wide with some unreadable emotion. Merlin closed his laptop and leaned forwards, speaking in as even and calm a tone as he could manage.   


“No, you won’t. If it worries you that much, would you like to use my shower? I only live down the street.”   


Arthur did a double take and then smiled disdainfully.   


“For all you know I might murder you and steal all of your possessions to sell for drugs. That’s one nice laptop.”   
Merlin rolled his eyes before draining his cup and standing up to gather his belongings. With a jerk of the head he summoned Arthur to stand, who looked like he did so without meaning to.   


“For all _you_ know, I could be taking you to cook for dinner.”   


Arthur thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “At least I’d be warm.”

—

As a bottom-rung journalist at a crappy free magazine and a millennial to boot, living in central London was nigh on impossible for Merlin; but, thanks to a good head for money and the bequest of a bedsit in his long lost uncle’s will, he just about managed. His flat was just off the South Bank - unheard of, usually - and roughly the same size as a postage stamp. However, Arthur entered with an expression that wouldn’t be out of place on someone entering Buckingham Palace for the first time. His wary eyes skimmed over the chips in the paint, unmade bed and plate of congealed beans on toast on the tiny coffee table: he seemed to see only the countless books piled to the ceiling and many homely touches cluttering the space.

Absently, Merlin chucked his keys into their bowl on the kitchen counter and kicked his shoes off. Arthur stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. He seemed to be afraid to move or touch anything for fear of being told off or breaking something.   


“Is this the part where you ask me how I’d prefer to be cooked?” He asked, shuffling nervously from foot to foot and giving a tentative chuckle. Merlin snorted in response.   


“I’m normally partial to deep fried, myself.” He began to pile clean towels and clothes into Arthur’s arms, not bothering to fold them as he yanked them from his overladen clothes horse. “These should fit you alright. There’s a new razor in the bathroom if you fancy a shave. Everything you need is in there - take your time.”

The bearded man stared for a moment, obviously unused to such luxuries as clean clothes and a razor to shave with. Seconds passed as he seemed to deliberate, before seeming to decide it was work the risk and whirling into he bathroom and locking the door behind him with a _clunk_.

With a sigh, Merlin flopped into his one armchair and ran his hands over his face, staring fixedly at the ceiling through parted fingers. He did have a terrible habit of getting himself into situations like this. He’d never met the man before and yet here he was, inviting him into his home without a second thought. Perhaps Arthur was just one of those drug addicted, psychopathic serial killers who was perfectly open and honest about his profession and therefore seemed totally innocuous?Perhaps he was only posing as a homeless man and was really going to skin Merlin alive and then steal everything he had to sell in some Croydon alleyway.

The sound of the shower starting up buzzed through the wall - it was old and well past its best, but the audible groan of pleasure as Arthur presumably stepped under the warm spray made it seem like some kind of wet room at the Savoy.

Merlin smiled at that, solid in the belief that today was not the day he would get chopped up into tiny pieces; he’d done a nice thing. Gwen had also done a nice thing, by packing two more toasties, some crisps and an entire chocolate cake into a takeaway bag. It’d have to come out of her wages, Merlin knew - she’d all but poked him in the eye when he’d tried to pay her, and Arthur had been shuffling anxiously by the door, clearly considering making a bid for escape, so he’d let the matter lie.

Absently, he pondered the man in the next room. Merlin wondered at his story, and how he had come to be on the streets. His accent was so _clean_ \- like polished crystal, almost - there was no way he was a down and out from a council estate. The journalist in him longed to ask questions, to unravel Arthur one bit at a time, to make sense of someone who already seemed so at odds with the place in the world he currently inhabited. Arthur was the kind of puzzle that _infuriated_ Merlin; he was already morbidly fascinated, and determined to find out what he could in whatever time he had before Arthur bolted: something which he was bound to do before long.

Outside, the wind and rain had intensified tenfold. Hailstones were now battering against the window, and Merlin was half afraid one particularly large one would come straight through into his little bedsit, so he curled in on himself in the armchair and reached straight for the dog-eared copy of _Harry Potter_ which lay on the little side table nearby.

As he read, the sounds of Arthur in the bathroom washed over him, barely noticeable. At some point, the other man had started to hum; a low, tuneless rumble that made Merlin raise his eyebrows and snort a little laugh in surprise. The shower had been switched off, and the padding of footsteps echoed back and forth around the tiny bathroom.

Eventually, Arthur emerged quietly, clad in a pair of grey joggers and a red baseball shirt which drowned him. Merlin had always been naturally slim - possibly something to do with an absolute inability to sit still for longer than half an hour - but Arthur had the look of a fit, muscled figure that had wasted away. The joggers hung loosely on his slim hips, and Merlin’s eyes were drawn to the stark jut of his wrists: arms that had clearly once been strong, now a shadow, whisper thin.   


“You didn’t shave?” Merlin queried, clamping his mouth shut over the impertinent question. Arthur’s mouth thinned as he towelled at his wet hair.   


“You only had the one razor - you’ll have more need of it than I. The beard doesn’t bother me too much.”   


“It’s no trouble, you can have it.”   


“Really, it’s okay. You’ve done enough already. Thank you.”

Hesitantly, Arthur retrieved his filthy, sopping clothes and stood with them in the middle of the room, looking somewhat at a loss. Merlin stood and gathered them into his own arms with a soft smile, trying to ignore the stale smell that emanated from them.   


“Let’s get these washed, shall we? Then we’ll see what’s salvageable.”  


“Can I stay until they’re dried?”   


The expression on Arthur’s face was unreadable. It almost seemed as though he fully expected Merlin to say no - to kick him out into the miserable winter weather in pyjamas. Merlin turned to face the other man, eyes wide in incredulity as he began the washing cycle without looking.   


“Of _course_ you can.”   


“Thank you.”

Arthur continued to just linger there in the centre of the room, shifting his weight from foot to foot with his fists clenched by his sides. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, pale eyes darting back and forth as though cataloguing escape routes.

This was clearly going to be harder than he thought, Merlin realised. As nonchalantly as possible, he rummaged around in the bag of food, set it on the table and drew out a chair, letting his eyes flick between the seat and Arthur before turning to the rest of the tiny kitchen space.   


“Tea? Coffee? I should imagine you could do with a hot drink. Or I have water, orange juice, Diet Coke-”   


“Tea, please.”   


“Tea it is.”   


“Thank you.”   


As he busied himself with making tea, Merlin mused that he had never known anyone to be quite so polite. Behind him, he heard Arthur settle at the table and gingerly open a packet of crisps, crunching quietly as though afraid of making too much noise. Glancing at the washer dryer, Merlin saw he only had three hours before the entire cycle finished, which would result in dry clothes and Arthur’s departure. He furrowed his brow. He’d really have to use his best journalistic skills to get information out of this closed book of a man, for no reason other than to satisfy his own insatiable curiosity. He’d have to employ his most cunning, shrewd questioning techniques.

With a blithe grin, Merlin all but pirouetted on the spot, leaning back against the counter as the kettle boiled and crossing his arms over his chest.   


“So, Arthur. Tell me about yourself.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the love on the first chapter! As always, any mistakes are my own. I will probably spot them later and pop on to correct! Please do leave a comment/kudo so I know whether to keep writing <3 you're all angels.

Damn. That was not quite the deft questioning he had intended. Arthur paused, crisp halfway to his mouth, and turned a scowl that could sink ships upon Merlin.   


“Why?”   


His tone was accusatory, as though he suspected Merlin of having less than pure intentions towards him. Merlin shrunk back a little, shocked at the blatant mistrust in Arthur’s eyes.

“Sorry, I… I’m a journalist. I can’t help it. I like to ask questions - get to know people, you know?” 

“Why do you need to get to know me? You did me a kindness I won’t forget, but I’m not worth your time. Let that be an end to it.” The iron that laced the words brooked no argument, but the fleeting sadness that flitted across the other man’s face was impossible to miss, brief though it was.

Merlin did not speak again for a time, feeling the back of his neck heating in embarrassment as he pootled around making the tea. Settling two mugs on the table, he folded himself into the rickety wooden chair opposite his guest and fixed him with what he hoped was an open, unchallenging expression.   


“Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?” He asked, blowing a little at the mug now cradled in his hands. Arthur kept his gaze downcast, apparently fascinated by the whorls of the wooden table.   


“That depends on how much more I make. I need a tenner for the shelter. At last count, I had two sixty four,” replied Arthur almost sullenly. He ran one long, thin finger around the rim of the mug, working back and forth over a tiny chip in the porcelain Merlin had never noticed.   


“You could stay here, if you like? You can have the bed - I have an air mattress.”   


“No, thank you.”   


“Are you sure? I don’t mind. I don’t think you should be sleeping outside in this weather.”   


“Quite sure, Merlin.”   


An uneasy silence fell, and Merlin awkwardly shuffled his wallet out of his back pocket, checking inside to see how much cash he had. Despite Arthur’s absolute unwillingness to accept any further help than he already had, a bone deep sensation of _needing_ to take action continued to gnaw at Merlin until he relented.   


“Will you at least let me make up the difference? Or give you enough for a few nights? I don’t have much but I’d like to help.”  


"There was that expression again; the one Arthur had worn at the cafe, with his lips pulled back over his teeth and a hard set to his jaw. He slammed his fist onto the table.   


“I don’t need charity! I just need - I just…”

As quickly as it had flared, all the fight seemed to leave him then and he slumped forward, pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes to keep the tears at bay. Gently, Merlin reached across the table and rested a hand on his shoulder. Arthur jumped at the contact and made to skitter away, but Merlin held him fast. He reckoned at one point, Arthur would have been able to beat him senseless without even using his full strength, but not in his current wasted state.

As carefully as he could, Merlin smoothed his finger back and forth over the bony shoulder, gratified when he felt a small amount of tension ease under his ministrations. He spoke quietly, as though soothing a startled colt.   


“I’m not trying to give you charity, Arthur. I just want to help.”   


“No-one ever just wants to help,” came the bitten off reply. “People walk past me every day and don’t even see me. Then, when they do, they help me for the sake of putting it on social media or fulfilling some kind of Jesus complex and some of them - God, _some_ of them - the things they ask for in _repayment…_ Honestly, I’d rather be invisible. I could die out there outside that tube station and no one would notice until I started to rot. _“  
_

 _“_ That’s not true.”   


“Isn’t it? I recognise you. You walk past me most days and you’ve never even looked at me before.”

That stopped Merlin in his tracks. Had he really done that? He knew he always tipped a bit of change into cups when he had it, or popped into Greggs for a drink and a sausage roll for those in need when he had the spare cash. He had always tried to at least acknowledge everyone he passed - or maybe, in fact, he hadn’t. With a swooping, sinking sensation in his stomach he realised there had always been a crumpled figure at the edges of his vision as he sat by the window in the cafe, yet he’d never even given it a second thought. He raised his eyes to meet Arthur’s, blinking back tears of his own.   


“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, ashamed of the way his voice cracked with emotion.   


“It’s not your fault, I get it. I used to be the same. Before.”   


For a moment, Arthur covered Merlin’s hand with his own and gave it a squeeze before he shrugged away, standing and beginning to pace the small flat like a caged tiger.

Arthur’s hair had started to dry, and Merlin noticed that it was actually a golden blonde rather than the grime caked brown he had presumed. It was long enough that his fringe flopped into his eyes in such a way that meant he had to brush it away every time he turned on his heel. Merlin watched him silently for a few moments, before fishing two twenty pound notes out of his wallet and laying it in front of him.   


“Right. Here’s an idea.” Arthur stopped pacing and looked at him expectantly. “Here’s forty quid, right? Use that to get into a hostel when you can, and for food when you need it. If for whatever reason you can’t get a bed for the night, come by here and you are welcome to my air mattress. If you just need a shower or whatever. It’s a loan. When you get yourself back on your feet, you can buy me a pint. Or maybe two.”   


For the first time, a tiny smile played tugged at the corners of Arthur’s lips; the way it made his eyes crinkle made him look years younger. It was not a full smile, just the slightest hint of one, but Merlin took it as a good sign.   


“I think I can just about live with that.”

—

As quietly as possible, Merlin closed the bathroom door. Arthur was stretched out in the armchair fast asleep, hands folded over his abdomen, his breath coming steadily. His now cleaned clothes were folded neatly on the bed, and apart from the ratty old t-shirt, most were still in wearable condition. Arching his back with a deep sigh as he stretched, Merlin pondered the strange events of the day as he switched on the shower and climbed inside.

Arthur remained as much a mystery to him now as he had been a few hours previously. He was prickly, distrustful and seemed to spend every moment balanced on the point of a knife, simply waiting for the next blow to land and send him toppling. It wasn’t exactly his fault, Merlin knew - whatever mistreatment he had faced until this point was bound to have had a huge impact upon him. A prickling sensation flared in Merlin’s veins as he thought about what Arthur had said - about the reasons people helped him, and that sometimes they asked for _repayment_ \- the implications behind the word and Arthur’s obvious distress made bile rise in his throat. To banish the nausea, he scrubbed hard at the shampoo in his hair until he saw stars.

Suddenly, a bang from the other room startled him so much he slipped and barely caught himself before his head collided with the tiled wall. Hair still soapy, he clambered from the shower and wrapped himself in a towel, shivering against the chilly air. When he opened the bathroom door, it was to find the rest of the flat empty, Arthur’s clothes gone along with the forty pounds and the remaining food from the cafe. Merlin’s heart sank as he noted the careful, meticulous way the other man had folded the joggers and laid them at the end of the bed.

Dragging himself out of a strange forlornness that weight upon his chest, he pulled the latch across the door and returned to the bathroom as the wind howled outside the window.

—

“Watch where you’re going, you great buffoon!” In a gesture more befitting an old man of ninety than a young one of twenty five, Merlin shook his fist threateningly in the direction of the rickshawdriver pedalling away with great abandon, flipping Merlin the bird as he did so. Once safely on the pavement, he locked eyes with the two beautiful brunette men awaiting his presence outside the Duke of Wellington pub on the corner of Aldwych.   


“Merlin!” Lance cried, clapping him on the shoulder before Gwaine gathered him in for a bone crushing bear hug. These two idiots had been his best friends since high school, and he was damned if he wasn’t glad to see them now.   


“I hope you appreciate what I do for you. The West End at half six on a Friday? In _December_? Are you insane? It’s like hell is empty and all the devils - meaning the tourists and commuters, not to mention the Christmas parties - are here!”   


“This coming from the man who will happily spend his Saturday afternoons at Borough Market like the filthy City boy he is,” barked Gwaine. Merlin squawked indignantly, before allowing himself to be frogmarched into the pub. Immediately, the warmth enveloped his cold limbs, and the familiar aroma of mulled wine surrounded him. Lance all but threw him into a booth with a little ‘reserved’ sign propped on the table - in handwriting which belonged unmistakably to Gwaine, the shameless bastard. The man in question joined them mere moments later carrying three pints, tossing a wink over his shoulder to the barmaid who was plastered all over the beer pumps, all but drooling.

The three friends settled to chatting almost immediately. Though they all worked in the same city, their professions differed so much it was difficult for them to meet very often. Lance was a paediatrician: his handsome features, soft voice and deep-rooted compassion along with incredible intelligence and talent had seen him land a job at Great Ormond Street for this final year of his training and he worked long hours for little pay, but he adored what he did. Gwaine, on the other hand, was a model-come-artist-come-barber-come-God knows what else who was most often found on a flight to somewhere obscure for reasons he’d never tell. He had always been the type to fly by the seat of his trousers, but it suited him well. Gwaine never wanted for anything, and was a good man to have around in a pinch.

They discussed their love lives - Merlin’s being non-existent (as far as he was concerned being bisexual wasn’t all it was cracked up to be - as he put it, double the power, double the failure), Gwaine’s being a string of über attractive one night stands and Lance’s decade long crush on Gwen. They reflected on years gone by, and laughed over the scrapes they had gotten into in high school: more often than not dreamed up by Merlin and initiated by Gwaine with poor Lancelot stumbling along behind in an attempt to keep some kind of order. They pondered the future, and where the coming year would take them.

As was always the case when the trio got together, time seemed to simultaneously cease to pass and pass too quickly, because before he knew it Merlin was several pints in and squinting at the clock which seemed to think four hours had passed. Ludicrous.

The three friends rose unsteadily to their feet - as always, they would walk back towards Charing Cross together before taking their respective tubes home. It had, somewhat incongruously, begun to snow. It so rarely snowed in London aside from the odd light flurry in mid-March that the flakes drifting from the dark sky above had each pub emptying onto the pavement as the patrons stared upwards in drunken wonder. Merlin, Gwaine and Lancelot dodged around them all, giddy laughter bubbling over as they tucked their coats around themselves and through bleary vision tried to avoid tripping over their feet.

Which, of course, is exactly what Gwaine did. Or rather he tripped over the feet of a man seated on the pavement outside Tesco, covered over with yesterdays newspapers. Chaos personified, the Irishman flailed for a moment before face-planting the ground, tangled in his own scarf. He swore loudly, turning to the person he’d tripped over.

With a start, Merlin locked eyes with Arthur where he hunched on the pavement, teeth audibly chattering. Before Gwaine could speak and unleash that dreadful Irish temper twelve years in England hadn’t softened, Merlin had dropped to his knees, whipped his hat off and shoved it roughly onto Arthur’s head.   


“You prat! Why aren’t you in a hostel?! You’re going to freeze to death!” Merlin cried, ignoring Gwaine’s confused splutters as he crawled to kneel beside him. Lance also hunkered down, eyeing Arthur with concern. The man in question huffed a shaky laugh.   


“The money you gave me ran out and people are less generous than you’d think. I’m fine, Merlin,” he muttered, pushing himself away with what little strength he could muster. He looked truly awful - a damn sight worse than he had just a few days previously. Even in the dim light Merlin could see the dark circles under his eyes and the purplish bruise that bloomed across his cheekbone.

Gwaine looked around him in obvious confusion, massaging the spot just above his knee which had taken the worst of his recent tumble.   


“Can someone _please_ tell me what the fuck is going on?”   


“This is Arthur, a friend of mine.”   


“A friend of yours?”   


“Yes, _Gwaine_ , a friend of mine. We met a few days ago - Gwen knows him too,” he added over his shoulder to Lance, who perked up a little at the mention of her name.   


“Merlin did me a favour, yes, but now he’s being an idiot and I need you two to get him out of here. I’m okay!”Arthur’s words were slurred, and belied by the full body shiver that overtook him at that moment. Snow clung to his long, fair eyelashes and the matted hair of his beard. Glancing down at the clasped hands on top of the newspaper, Merlin’s gut wrenched to see they were ungloved and slightly blue. Biting the inside of his cheeks to stop some kind of tirade spilling from his lips, Merlin slung one of Arthur’s arms over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet.   


“Can one of you two hail us a cab? I’m taking him to mine,” he snapped at his friends. At once, they jumped into action. Gwaine took Arthur’s other arm and Lance all but leapt into the path of a taxi to stop it.

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur did not protest this manhandling of his person, and both Lance and Gwaine piled into the taxi behind them. After assuring the taxi driver that Arthur was _not_ drunk and therefore would _not_ throw up in the back of the cab, they were off. In his gentle way, Lance quietly asked permission to take Arthur’s pulse. The other man nodded weakly, letting his head loll sideways onto Merlin’s shoulder as Lance reached across and held his wrist in the careful, patient gesture that showed the best of him. Merlin clung onto his other hand, desperately trying to warm the frozen digits by way of his own alcohol heated palm.

As though his tongue was too large for his mouth, Arthur began to try and speak, but the words were unintelligible. After a few attempts he gave in, his mouth falling open a little as he swooned. Merlin squeezed the hand in his a little tighter as Lance tapped Arthur on the cheek, careful to avoid the bruise.   


“Hey - hey, Arthur. I need you to stay awake for me, okay mate? I need you to stay awake.”   


“Awake. Yes. Yes _sir_.”

The snow outside continued to fall as the thankfully short journey came to an end. Gwaine tossed a casual fifty to the driver - far too much for the distance - and helped Merlin to decant the almost boneless Arthur out of the taxi and across the road towards the flat. Wordlessly, Lance dug his hand into Merlin’s back pocket where he always carried his keys. Under normal circumstances there would have been some lewd jokes and a lot of laughter, but they all knew this was not the time. The blonde man was now slumped against Merlin, all but unconscious, his frigid nose pressed into the side of Merlin’s pale neck, his beard scratching unpleasantly at the skin.

Together, they heaved him inside and up the two flights of narrow stairs. In his chest, Merlin’s heart twisted unpleasantly.   


“Please let him be okay,” he muttered out loud. “ _Please let him be okay_.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this is proving more complicated than I thought but hopefully I'll get there! Thank you to those who have read/given kudos/comments/bookmarks so far - your support honestly means the world. 
> 
> P.S. Bonus points if you spot The Weird Thing™ in this chapter.

“Mild hypothermia,” Lance muttered, squinting at the thermometer in his hand. “Merlin, get me as many towels and blankets as you can find. Gwaine - something warm and sweet - water with honey and lemon or similar. Not boiling, just a little over lukewarm.” He paused, tugging off Arthur’s damp clothes and heaping them on the floor as calmly as you like. Arthur blinked up at him owlishly from Merlin’s bed, his body trembling with cold.

To their credit, Merlin and Gwaine obeyed Lance’s instructions quickly, and before long Arthur was swaddled in blankets, drinking the warm water through a straw as best he was able, his head resting in Merlin’s lap to ensure he didn’t choke. From his perch on the end of the bed, Lance accepted the tea Gwaine offered him, smiling serenely as though his Friday night had not been usurped by a medical emergency.

Gwaine himself sat cross legged on the floor, making his beverage a little more Irish by adding a tot of suspicious looking liquid from a hip flask concealed at his belt. They sat in companionable silence for a moment, broken only by the slight chattering of Arthur’s teeth. Taking a long swig of his tea, Lance levelled his steady, apparently no longer intoxicated gaze at Merlin.   


“I’ll stay here tonight, if that’s okay - I have four days off. Just to keep an eye, you know? We need to make sure he stays awake so that his body temperature doesn’t drop any further.”   


“Will he be okay?” Merlin’s tone was clipped, his mind swimming with a combination of adrenaline and alcohol. 

“Should be fine. If he’d been any worse off than this I’d have taken him straight to hospital, but it’s nothing I can’t deal with here. Give it twenty four hours and he’ll be fit as a fiddle. Won’t you, Arthur?”   


The man in question gave a jerky little nod, returning Lance’s kind smile with a minimal twitch of his lips. At least he wasn’t delirious, which could only be a good sign.   


“I must say, Merls, I’ve very impressed,” grinned Gwaine, stretching his long legs out in front of him and crossing his ankles.   


“Impressed by what?” replied Merlin, perplexed. He tried to ignore the pins and needles in his leg where Arthur’s head rested.   


“Mostly the fact that you own a thermometer. Are you _actually_ your mother?”   


“Shut up, you arsehole.”

“Also the fact that your career as a journalist has yet not robbed you of your humanity. It was a good thing you did back there.”

Sincerity from Gwaine could usually be trusted, as it wasn’t a sentiment he expressed very often. Merlin felt his face heat as Gwaine turned an admiring smile towards him, holding out his cup in a silent toast. Lance followed suit, making Merlin groan in embarrassment.

“Don’t talk shit. It was Lance who did all the actual… medical stuff.”

Lance countered this statement with a shake of his head. “Ah, but if you hadn’t made us, we wouldn’t have stopped, would we?”   


“And I’d have been dead by dawn.”   


Arthur’s voice was a low, broken rumble, the short sentence interspersed by his hitched breathing. The three turned to him as he struggled to sit a little straighter against Merlin, apparently eager to make his point but unwilling to move away from the body heat.

He gazed blearily around the room, taking in the surroundings with a dazed expression as though sorting through overfull filing cabinets in his mind, searching for the thoughts he needed.   


“I owe you all a great debt. You don’t know me from Adam and yet you were still kind enough to help me - thank you. Trust me when I say I don’t accept help easily: Merlin already knows this.” 

“That I do.”   


“It’s been a long time since anyone truly showed me kindness, and I promise you that if I am ever in a position to do so, I will repay that kindness.”   


Even though his words were lethargic and a little slurred, Arthur had a kind of aura about him when he spoke that made those around him want to listen. A fine way of speaking - too fine, really, for a man with hypothermia - that made his audience really believe his words.

Beyond words, Merlin, Lance and Gwaine simply nodded, their jaws tight to keep their chins from wobbling at the rawness in Arthur’s voice. Once again Merlin noted the cut glass, polished tones of his vowels and vaguely hoped he’d get to the bottom of them, sooner or later. Against him, Arthur began to sink lower once more. Almost at once, Lance was on his feet and snapping his fingers in his face, urging him to stay awake.   


“Arthur? Hey, Arthur. Look at me” Merlin urged quietly, slipping a hand around to gently cup Arthur’s jaw and jostle him into consciousness. “Hey… hey. Stay with me.”   


“‘M not going anywhere,” the other man muttered, eyes opening once more as he scowled up at Merlin who loomed over him, much too close. “You’re not wearing your glasses,” he added with what could only be called a pout. With a surprised laugh, Merlin nodded and extracted himself, quickly explaining he’d run out of contacts a day early and tried to avoid wearing his specs as much as possible.

Only slightly tripping over his own feet, he made his way over to the dilapidated bookcase in the corner which was crammed to busting with battered DVDs.   


“I reckon if you need to stay awake all night, we should at least make it interesting! How about a movie? Any preferences?”   


Gwaine interjected then, the titles of porno after porno spilling forth with impressive exactness. Rolling his eyes, Merlin shook his head and looked again to Arthur, who gave a small shrug.   


“Die Hard?”   


“You mean the best Christmas movie _ever_?” cried Merlin, grabbing the extremely tatty case from the spot on the shelf it had occupied since he was about twelve. Lance and Gwaine rolled their eyes in pained, practiced unison.   


“It is not a Christmas movie,” they chorused, as they had done every festive season for the last however many years. Merlin ignored them, popping the disc into the DVD player.   


“You’ll be glad to know, Arthur, that I have them _all_.”

—

The quartet of men sat up all night like a bunch of teenagers, snacking on what random things Gwaine could scavenge from Merlin’s sparse cupboards ( _“You really need to start eating more than Pot Noodles and Malteasers, mate.”_ ), drinking huge amounts of tea and talking absolute nonsense. Arthur didn’t contribute much to the discussions, ill as he was, but every so often he’d come to his senses enough to drop in a dry comment or grunt of agreement.

By the time the sun had risen, his shivering had stopped, and by early afternoon some of the pallor had left his cheeks. Lance seemed satisfied when he checked his temperature, agreeing that Arthur could have a shower on the condition that he did not lock the door and that he would call them immediately if he felt unwell. Merlin bustled around the little kitchen space assembling a brunch Gwaine had kindly popped out of forage for - poached eggs on hot buttered toast, his favourite when unwell. Gwaine, bless him, had even offered to give Arthur a haircut at his uncle’s barbershop in Southwark the following morning, since it would be closed on a Sunday and they’d have the place to themselves. The blonde man had refused at great length, before eventually folding to Lance’s quiet, charming assurances that a haircut would make him feel like a new man.

Once they had eaten their fill and Lance and Gwaine had excused themselves, Merlin helped Arthur back to bed, heaping as many blankets as possible on top of his prone form. He gazed softly up at Merlin, his hair sticking up at all angles as it dried.   


“There’s just something about you, Merlin,” he muttered, settling back against the pillows with a contented sigh, yawning and stretching his entire body like a cat. In the daylight, the bruise on his cheek only became more pronounced.

“Oh yeah? What kind of thing?” Merlin asked mildly in response, itching to gain a little more trust so he could ask about the shiner - and why, exactly, Arthur had been on the streets in the snow. The blonde shrugged, sinking into the mattress like it was made of clouds.   


“I don’t know. Something.”   


“Informative.”   


“I do try.”   


They smiled at each other then - Merlin delivering his trademark hundred watt grin in response to another quirk of Arthur’s lip. He winced a little as the movement reached his purpling cheekbone, and Merlin leapt upon the opportunity.   


“What happened there?”   


Shockingly, Arthur responded without too much fuss.   


“I walked into a guys fist. You know the kind - all brawn, no brains. Apparently, he didn’t like the way I was looking at him.”   


“It looks painful.”   


Arthur shrugged again, this time curling in on himself like a child caught out doing something naughty.   


“I’ve had worse.”   


“Are you sure?”   


“Yes.”   


“When?”   


“That Lance guy said you weren’t supposed to stress me out.”   


“I think it’s only fair that you tell me at least a little about yourself when my friends and I saved your life and you’re currently taking up most of my bed.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed at that, and he was silent for so long that Merlin assumed he wasn’t going to start speaking again. With an aggrieved _harrumph_ , he hauled himself over to the table and sat with his laptop in front of him, opening the story about the bloody three legged German Shepherd and barely resisting the urge to stick his finger in the nearest socket and switch it on. As he typed, he felt Arthur’s eyes on him, sharp and searching. With what sounded like a very put-upon sigh for someone who had just been knocking at death’s door, Arthur began to speak.   


“I’m a soldier. Or rather, I was. I went into the army when I was sixteen - ran away from home. Saw active combat in Syria against Daesh, got wounded, got repatriated, the end. This country has a very short memory when it comes to servicemen and servicewomen.”Mentally, Merlin kicked himself. He should have known. A huge number of the displaced and homeless in the UK were ex-forces - they returned from combat with life altering injuries and PTSD and goodness knows what else, only to find the government less than helpful in helping them readjust to civilian life. As though lost in memory, Arthur continued.   


“I never wanted to kill people. Far from it - I wanted to _help_. I wanted to bring justice in any way I could. My parents told me I’d never amount to anything. Not the nicest of people, are Helen and Thomas Owens, and when I was with them I always felt like I didn’t belong, you know? Like I had been born into the wrong family. Don’t get me wrong, they rarely hit me, but sometimes words are worse, yeah? When I joined up… the army - my unit - were like the brothers and sisters I never had… until they… they weren’t.”   
He stopped again, raising one arm and draping it across his face to shield his eyes from the light.

It didn’t take a MENSA candidate to work out that something had happened to the rest of his unit. Something clearly so awful and painful that Arthur probably had never yet dealt with it. Merlin didn’t know what to say, whatever words he had seeming to stick in his mouth like sawdust. He rolled his shoulders slightly, working out the kinks that had formed from hunching in a strange position all night and wincing as his neck audibly clicked. Humour was usually the best way out of situations such as these, a talent he’d honed over many years.

“As impressive as all of that is, I think you’ll find my story more interesting,” began Merlin, snaffling two biscuits from the jar on the counter and tossing one to Arthur. The other man merely grunted. “Growing up, I was the only openly LGBT kid in my class, was a champion swimmer _and_ appeared on an episode of _Dick ’n’ Dom In Da Bungalow_ when I was old enough to know better.”   


“Dick and Dom?!” Arthur’s head shot up so quickly his eyes crossed.

“What, after your time?”   


“I’m twenty seven, you rude little git. I remember it fine, thanks. The one where they gunged each other and screamed bogies in public places like a pair of utter imbeciles.”

“That’s the one! I’m right, aren’t I? My origin story is better.”   


“It trumps mine by _miles,_ ” Arthur smirked, shaking his head in a way which seemed almost fond. He lay back against the pillows and heaved a sigh.   


“Lance said you can sleep a little, if you like,” offered Merlin, already moving to close the blinds by the single window. Arthur nodded sleepily, burrowing down into the covers. “I’ll wake you in an hour.”

—

One hour turned into two. Merlin finished off the laughable Crufts article and opened a new, blank document, mesmerised by the cursor as it flashed against the blindingly white page. With as melodramatic a sigh as he could muster, he let his head flop to the table. What _was_ he going to do? As much as adored Gaius, the crotchety old fart, and as much as this crappy little flat was his very own four walls, he knew he couldn’t live like this forever.

Somewhere, at this very moment, a story was unfolding, and he’d be the one to unearth it. He could feel it. There was something stirring on the wind, a twinkling just outside his vision like some kind of fairy or sprite playing tricks to catch his attention. Merlin’s mother had always been adamant her son had an inkling for these things: not so much a sixth sense as a deep connection to the world around him, something he so often felt disconnected from in this vast, sprawling concrete monstrosity known as London.

On top of it all, apparently he’d felt the need to go on some kind of one-man crusade to get Arthur off the streets. For all his hard edges and apparent lack of social skills, the man clearly had a bone deep goodness in him that was evident from a mile away. Merlin’s heart ached for him - he had suffered so much, for someone so young. It seemed only right to help him in whatever way he could, if he would accept it.

Merlin thought of his mother’s B&B in Kentish Town - she’d mentioned she was looking for some casual staff. Would Arthur accept? And even if he did, where would he stay? He needed a bank account to get paid, and an address to get a bank account, and Merlin was certain neither Arthur nor himself had the slightest inclination to share this shoebox with another person who was practically a stranger.

His head suddenly feeling both oddly hollow while also being stuffed with cotton wool, Merlin turned the TV on low, letting his mind wander to the spaghetti hoop stuck to the newsreader’s otherwise pristine cream blouse and the fact every single story seemed to heap misery upon misery upon despair upon tragedy. A country in south east Asia, ravaged by a virus everyone thought defeated the previous year. The king of Britain wracked with regrets and sick, potentially dying, with images of the young princess attending functions on her own as the queen tended to him. A former American president assassinated as he golfed at his resort in Scotland - to be fair, Merlin mused, this last story ended things on almost a positive note.

From underneath the mountain of blankets emerged Arthur, with the distinct air of a bad tempered badger roused from its sett. Tamping down on the smile that threatened to appear, Merlin pursed his lips instead and looked at the man upon his bed with open expectancy.   


“Do you have any food?” Arthur asked with a tone more brisk than he had possibly intended.   


“Why of course, my liege,” responded Merlin, standing to attention and throwing his arm out with a theatrical flourish. “What’ll it be? Frozen pizza, packet macaroni cheese or the famous Pot Noodle à la Merlin?”  


Arthur seemed to genuinely deliberate for a moment, before flipping onto his back and star fishing on the mattress like it was the most comfortable thing he’d ever felt.   


“How about… All of it?”

“Your wish is my command,” grinned Merlin, heart warmed when he received a small, reluctant smile in return. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if I handled hypothermia correctly - I did a whole heap of Googling and seemed to find different things at every turn so please do suspend your disbelief and trust that Lancelot has Arthur's back, just like he always did <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support so far <3 Any comment/kudo really does mean a lot and is what keeps me writing! Hope you continue to enjoy x

Merlin woke with a jolt, startled into consciousness by a cry of unmistakeable terror. He shot bolt upright and immediately tipped sideways - the air mattress on which he slept seemed to disagree with the sudden change of weight and it spat him face first onto the carpet. The dim light of the bedside lamp promptly filled the room, and Arthur struggled upright in bed, eyes wide and chest heaving. Merlin’s heart rate slowed slightly; he’d forgotten Arthur’s presence, and was reassured now he knew he wasn’t being burgled.

“You alright?” queried Merlin from his vantage point on the floor. With a grimace, he noticed he _really_ needed to hoover. Arthur looked down at him, worrying his lip between his teeth again in that way of his, nibbling at skin so dry it was sure to bleed if he kept at it for too long.

“Yes - sorry. I don’t tend to sleep often. Nightmares, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not particularly. Sorry for waking you.”

The blonde flopped back down again, staring at the ceiling. A quick glance at the clock on the oven told Merlin it was a little after one in the morning - they’d each crashed just before midnight, having vegetated the day away under the premise of allowing Arthur recovery time. Merlin rose to his feet, his spine cracking like one very long glow stick as he did so.

“Hot chocolate?” Merlin asked, sticking the kettle on to boil regardless of the answer. It was the only way he’d get back to sleep. Arthur turned to him with a look of pure disdain.

“I’m not a little girl, Merlin,” he spat, throwing his arms wide where he lay flat on his back.

“No, Arthur, you’re not. But I make the best hot chocolate and everyone agrees that it’s the perfect sleep remedy. Come, I’ll show you.”

With a little more cajoling, Arthur rose and padded across the kitchen in Merlin’s pyjamas, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and an expression which could sour milk. Feigning ignorance to the death glare he should really be quailing under, Merlin blustered around collecting ingredients with far too much enthusiasm for the middle of the night.

“So, what you want to do is melt real Cadbury’s chocolate buttons with the tiniest bit of hot water, see?” He did so, mixing the chocolate and water in two mugs until it became a thick paste. Despite himself, Arthur found himself watching with no small amount of interest. “Then you need to heat up some milk in a pot - making sure it doesn’t burn.” This took a little longer, both of them becoming lost in the steady circular motion of the wooden spoon through the now steaming, creamy liquid. “And then you mix it all together - like… this!” Merlin demonstrated as the most mouthwatering scent of cocoa filled the air. “Finally, you get to choose your toppings.”

Arthur’s head snapped up, nonplussed. “Toppings?”

“Yeah! I usually have marshmallows and cream and a chocolate button on top _but_ there is a distinct possibility I may have the dietary habits of a five year old. What do you fancy?”

“I will honestly drink whatever you give me at this point. I’ve never had hot chocolate.”

This simple, matter-of-fact statement stopped the dark haired man in his tracks. The expression he fixed Arthur with in that moment was so full of undisguised pity that the other man could hardly bear it, and so decided to find something exceptionally interesting on the back of the marshmallow packet. As far as Arthur could tell, there was nothing that amiss about never having tried it, surely? As a child his parents hadn’t liked to give him sweets; they said it made him unruly and difficult to handle, and so by the time he reached his teen years he’d lost any inclination he may have had towards sweet things. To Arthur, hot chocolate was something consumed by selfie taking, bobble hat wearing teenage girls, or by couples desperately clawing for something cutesy to do as they wandered around Winter Wonderland at Hyde Park getting absolutely fleeced.

With a small smile, Merlin passed him a mug absolutely overflowing with cream and marshmallows, and, admittedly, smelling like some kind of sugar-laced heaven. Arthur wrinkled his nose.

“Um… Merlin? How exactly do I drink it?”

“Just dive straight in,” was the only response he got before Merlin did just that, ending up with a nose covered in cream and a very satisfied countenance. With trepidation, Arthur took the smallest sip he could manage, attempting to get a little bit of everything at once. The first thing he noticed was the absolute tidal wave of refined sugar that engulfed him, which very quickly mellowed out thanks to a slightly bitter kick as the warm liquid hit the back of his tongue. Merlin watched him eagerly, balanced on the tips of his toes as though his whole life hinged on this moment and whether his rather bizarre house guest enjoyed the drink he’d prepared.

It gave Arthur a huge amount of pleasure to simply flip him a little thumbs up, taking a much deeper swig and allowing a pleasant, warm sensation to rain through his body from his head to his toes.

“My mum always made this for me when I was little and I couldn’t sleep - dad told her she was crazy for giving me sweet stuff at bedtime but it always sent me over. Sometimes I did act out a bit, pretending to be more awake than I was. There are so many photos of me as a kid with cream smeared all over my face, asleep on the floor of my bedroom.”

Merlin’s grin was fond as he pushed himself up to sit on the kitchen counter, eyes taking on the faraway look of reflection.

“Sounds like you were a delight,” Arthur smiled thinly in response, thinking back to the way his father would lock his door if he dared to try and get out of bed after the lights went out.

“Oh, you know it,” snorted Merlin, draining his mug. As he licked his lips, he continued. “When my dad died, I regretted how much of a little shit I was - then I saw the home videos, and how he was always egging me on, in one way or another, driving my poor mum round the bend. She had her hands full with the two of us, bless her.”

“When did he die?”

“When I was fourteen. He had cancer.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is.”

Arthur stared into the dregs still in his cup, hyper-aware of the cream stuck to his beard and the lethargy soaking into his muscles. He’d regret the indulgence of a warm beverage and comfortable bed when he was back on the streets, he knew, but didn’t have the heart to refuse Merlin and that endearing pushiness of his.

The silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity, Merlin tangling his fingers around the frayed ties of his joggers. Unable to bear the heaviness any longer, Arthur rose suddenly, stretching and running a contemplative hand over his chin.

“I won’t lie to you, I can’t wait to get rid of this damn beard later, I hate it. It was kind of Gwaine to offer to help me,” he muttered as he began to wash the dishes - doing this chore felt like nothing in comparison to what Merlin and his friends had done for him, but Arthur did it anyway, needing Merlin to know how appreciative he was even if he struggled to find the words to say it.

“Gwaine is that kind of guy.”

Merlin slid off the counter and grabbed a tea towel, the pair of them falling into a rhythm as easy as breathing.

Once everything was dried and put away, they climbed back into their respective beds. Almost as soon as the lights were out, they fell into oblivion, and for the first time in a very long time, Arthur slept soundly until morning.

—

Gwaine had not allowed either of them to observe the process as he had trimmed Arthur’s hair and freed him from the beard he’d loathed so much, covering over the mirror and insisting Merlin keep his eyes fixed on his book throughout.The pair had chatted animatedly the entire time like a pair of old friends, bickering and bantering in a way which made Merlin’s heart warm. It hadn’t taken long for the ever charming Irishman to crack Arthur’s emotional armour enough to elicit a real, honest laugh which echoed around the space so loudly it stunned them all into a momentary silence.

Now, as Merlin stood next to Gwaine and admired Arthur’s reflection in the uncovered mirror, he knew the truth. There was no other word for it, Arthur was _beautiful_.

His golden hair (the colour of wheat in the sunshine, Merlin mused poetically, before giving himself a metaphorical punch in the face for being so sickening) had been trimmed quite substantially, with Gwaine leaving enough length in the front to sweep over his finely arched brows. His cheekbones, even with the fading bruise on one side, were as of cut glass, his nose aristocratic and his lips - oh, his lips - were full and inviting in a way Merlin had not yet noticed, shrouded as they been in the dead animal that had taken up residence on his face. It was the elegant line of his jaw that finished Merlin off, graceful in the way it swept up towards the shell of his ear, and at the point where it met his long and admittedly very inviting neck.

Too busy taking in his own reflection like he’d seen a ghost, Arthur didn’t notice Merlin’s eyes all but pop out of his head… but Gwaine did. Looking left and right like a pantomime villain, the Irishman gave a subtle thumbs up and a less than subtle wink. He knew as well as Merlin did that this man would be welcome to break both of their hearts any day, and they’d thank him for it.

Arthur’s eyes began to sparkle with tears as he lifted one trembling hand to run through his artfully tousled hair and then down his unblemished cheek. Slowly, a true, blinding smile spread across his face. It had hints of the man he had been, and could be again, slowly stretching across his face and right up into his eyes, like the sun coming out on a cloudy day. His tears threatened to spill, but he rallied some of that military spirit and turned to Gwaine instead, holding a hand out. Without missing a beat, Gwaine grasped that proffered palm in his own and shook it firmly.

“I honestly don’t know how to thank you,” he said thickly, his voice cracking a little with suppressed emotion. Gwaine waved him off, shoving at his shoulder in a manly fashion.

“Don’t mention it. Whenever you need a haircut or a shave, I’m your man… If I’m not here, tell the boss man you know me and Merls and Lance and you’re good to go.”

Gwaine turned and walked away to tidy his workstation, grabbing a dustpan and broom as he went and managing to look like the model he was even as he swept.

A deep, shuddering breath heaved Arthur’s whole body as he turned to face Merlin, looking for all the world like he had just been given the most precious gift imaginable. With a twisting in his stomach, Merlin realised that it may well be, and if that wasn’t a soul destroying thought he didn’t know what was.

“I can’t remember the last time I felt this much like myself,” smiled Arthur, stepping a little closer and resting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. The squeeze of his fingers was stronger than one would imagine upon first glance, extracting a wince of pain from Merlin even as he swung his arm up to pat the back of Arthur’s hand in what he hoped came across as an affectionate gesture.

“You look good,” Merlin agreed. “You look… young.”

As though a good haircut and shave had lifted a weight from his shoulders, Arthur tossed his head back and laughed freely, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“I am young, and for once, I feel it.”

“Listen, Arthur - ”

“Merlin, you can’t even begin to understand what you have given me this past few days, saving my life notwithstanding. I don’t want to continue to burden you, but please know I’ll carry the memory of your kindness with me no matter where I end up.”

The sincerity of Arthur’s voice was heady, but Merlin pulled a face and leaned away from him with a scrunch between his brows and a wrinkled nose.

“Don’t think you get to say goodbye to me, dollophead.”

“Excuse me? Dollophead?”

“We’re _friends_ now, Arthur! You have a _friend_!”

There was a long pause, as Arthur seemed to wage some kind of internal war upon himself. When he did speak, his words were betrayed by the gentleness in his eyes. “You, my friend? God help me.”

—

Sunday afternoon was Merlin’s regular, scheduled lunch with his mother. Oftentimes, they had a slap up roast lunch in her rooms at the B&B, but after a particularly busy week she preferred to leave the place behind and head to the cafe where Gwen worked instead. Merlin had practically dragged Arthur by the scruff of the neck, refusing to let him sit outside in the bus shelter where there was a distinct danger of him wandering off. No, Merlin wanted his new friend by his side for as long as possible until he could be sure he was fully recovered and safe.

Looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else, Arthur allowed himself to be manhandled into the chair by the window he’d occupied less than a week before. Merlin’s mother was already there, standing at the counter chatting with Gwen while simultaneously ignoring the deadly stares of the proprietress, Morgause, who hid less than subtly behind the office door. Hunith approached like a warm summer breeze, a soft cotton scarf tied around her mousey hair and the smile she reserved for her only child adorning her pretty face.

“Merlin,” she sighed, gathering him into her arms as though still a tiny baby and not a grown man of six foot. He relaxed into her embrace, cheek resting atop her head.

“It’s good to see you mum.”

“And who is this?” asked Hunith, releasing Merlin and landing her searching gaze upon Arthur where he sat stiffly with his hands clenched in his lap. The man in question turned to her with a small, polite smile, eyes flicking momentarily to Merlin in a silent plea for help.

“This is Arthur, a new friend of mine,” Merlin said simply, helping his mother into her chair then settling into his own. Hunith flashed her son an appraising look, to which he shook his head only infinitesimally - when he said friend, he meant that and nothing more.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs - Mrs - I’m so sorry, I’m afraid I just realised I have no idea of your surname,” Arthur mumbled apologetically, pressing a hand to his chest as though the fact physically pained him.

“It’s Emrys, dear boy, but please do call me Hunith.”

“Emrys? That’s Welsh, no?”

“Excellent catch! We moved here when Merlin was a little lad to accommodate his father’s work.”

“I see! I’m an Owens - Welsh too, as far as I know, but my parents didn’t talk about it much.”

“That accent is definitely not Welsh, that’s for sure!”

“No, I was born and raised in North West London. In Harrow, actually.”

“ _Now_ I see, you’re a Harrow-on-the-Hill boy! That explains how prettily you speak.”

Merlin watched this exchange with ill-disguised surprise. His mother had always had a way about her that made others trusting, and just as it had with Gwaine earlier that day, Arthur’s tension had melted away into a friendly, unguarded peacefulness. It was a little frightening, the ease with which Arthur seemed to slot into Merlin’s life; he charmed his way into the good graces of everyone Merlin held most dear, even if the face he presented the man himself was usually one of consummate grumpiness.

The pair continued to chat away animatedly, Hunith leaning forward eagerly to make her point and Arthur reclining back in his chair, the picture of relaxation as he rested the tip of one index finger against his devastating lips. Every so often he’d chance a glance in Merlin’s direction, the corner of that mouth twitching each time as though fighting back a smile.

After a while, Gwen arrived at the table, giving Arthur the once over with her pretty brown eyes. Whilst jotting down their orders, she smiled at him.

“Hello, I’m Gwen. I don’t think we’ve met before - are you a friend of Merlin’s?”

“Actually - we have met. I was here with Merlin on Tuesday. You were both very sweet to me.”

It seemed to take Gwen a moment to sort back through her week to find the memory, but when she did, her grin only widened.

“Of _course_! You’re the homeless guy from across the street! Merlin’s good deed for the day. Not that he only helped you to feel good about himself, you looked like you needed it. What I mean is-”

Her words were met with silence. Merlin felt himself pale at the same time as Arthur flushed, his walls immediately flying up as he hunched in on himself as though trying to physically disappear. Gwen looked utterly distraught as she realised what she had said, tears filling her eyes as she all but curtsied and excused herself to fulfil their orders.

Hunith simply sat with her hands folded, looking between the two young men expectantly. Merlin inhaled deeply - it was time to tell his mother everything.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all stars, thank you for the support. <3

To her credit, Hunith listened to the saga of the past few days without interrupting, simply sipping at her tea and once even reaching across to smooth a thumb across Arthur’s forearm, which looked so tense his tendons seemed close to snapping. When Merlin reached the part of the story in which Arthur had caught hypothermia, Hunith fixed her son with a truly terrifying stare.

“And why, exactly, did you not come straight to me with this? I told you not seven damn days ago that I was looking for someone at the B&B!”

Merlin was spared answering by Arthur’s raised hand.

“With all due respect, Hunith, I may be homeless but I am not in need of charity.”

His voice was laced with steel, his back parade-ground straight and his focus as steady as Merlin had ever seen it. Hunith rolled her eyes and for a moment, Merlin saw exactly where he’d picked up the habit.

“Believe me, Arthur, charity is not what I’m offering. I’m looking for someone who can learn quickly and isn’t afraid of a bit of heavy lifting. Your good looks and the fact you can be charming when you put your mind to it doesn’t hurt, either. The guests will love you.”

At the mention of his apparent handsomeness, Arthur looked momentarily mollified. Quickly, however, he remembered himself and schooled his expression back into what was unmistakably a glower. “Mrs Emrys, you don’t know me. I could be anyone!”

“ _Hunith_. And yes, you could be. But my son trusts you, and he is without a doubt the best judge of character I know. Now, Arthur, I need you to be honest with me. You’re not an addict of any kind?”

“I did enjoy a drink whilst on leave, but no more than the next soldier. So no, I’m not now, nor have I ever been, an addict.”

“Excellent. No violent past - no estranged girlfriends I should be keeping an eye out for?”

At this, Arthur paused, forming a steeple with his fingers and resting his chin upon them, eyes fixed upon the salt shaker in the centre of the table.

“If you don’t include the army, no violence. Somehow I don’t think I can be held responsible for what I did for king and country. And - no. No previous partners should cause any issues.”

Merlin did a double take, almost choking on the chip he was currently chewing. He hadn’t missed the seemingly deliberate omission of gender from Arthur’s statement. How interesting.

Hunith continued her questioning for a short time, gradually working Arthur back to a place where he felt more comfortable. Pride swelled in Merlin’s chest as he watched: his mum was magic.

“Okay - here’s my final question.” She paused for effect, finishing off the final bite of her jacket potato as though deep in thought. “If you had to say you looked like a celebrity, which would you choose?”

An undignified snort of laughter sent ice tea shooting out of Merlin’s nose, and even Arthur huffed a relieved chuckle. Shaking her head, Hunith clasped his broad, weatherbeaten palm between both of her own and looked him straight in the eye.

“I’d be very pleased to offer you a job, Arthur. It’s not much, but it’s a wage. It’s only a few hours a week manning the desk and running errands for my little B&B, but - I really hope you’ll accept. You seem like a good man, and I’d like to think this could be the start of something for you.”

“I’d be truly honoured,” Arthur murmured. “I don’t suppose you could point me in the direction of somewhere to stay, could you? I can’t keep hogging Merlin’s bed.”

Merlin felt the tips of his ears go red as his mother raised one eyebrow in his direction, barely missing a beat before replying to Arthur’s question.

“Don’t be silly - you can stay with me. Merlin might live in a shoe box but I have a spare room I’m happy for you to have.”

“You do?” queried Merlin, confused.

“Yes, darling. Your old room is empty and I don’t see why I can’t put it to good use.”

Arthur had closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair once more, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took deep, steadying breaths.

The three sat without speaking for a few moments, before Hunith excused herself to placate Gwen, who had emerged from the kitchen with red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose. Arthur cracked one eye open, catching Merlin staring.

“What?”

“You look tense, and that’s putting it mildly.”

“I’m not. Not really. It’s just… it’s a lot. Three days ago I was sleeping under some soggy cardboard in an alley off Charing Cross Road and now I’m meant to believe I have a job and a place to stay and a haircut? I’m meant to think that people can really be this good?”

Merlin ran a hand through his hair, choosing his next words carefully. “I’m so sorry you haven’t seen the good in the world up until this point, Arthur. I’m sorry you seem to have faced hardships I’ll never even begin to understand - but… happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.”

“Fuck off!”

“What?!”

“You did _not_ just quote Harry Potter at me! God, you’re an even bigger nerd than I thought.”

Laughing loudly, Arthur tossed his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the sound of his mirth filled the bustling cafe. Merlin joined in with a subtle warmth flaring in his stomach that he pushed away, unwilling to acknowledge the internal squirm that accompanied it.

“I think you’ll find you’re just as big a nerd since you recognised it, thank you very much.”

“Merlin?”

“Shut up?”

“You guessed it.”

—

Arthur mooched awkwardly in the doorway of the bedroom, watching with furrowed brows as Merlin dashed around like some kind of Dalmatian on drugs, desperately shoving embarrassing remnants of his past into any drawer or cupboard he could find. Down came the Black Parade poster, away went the full collection of Twilight books (good _God_ ) and the life-size cardboard cutout of Natalie Portman found herself unceremoniously stuffed straight to the back of the wardrobe.

It was astounding, Arthur thought, just how different Merlin’s life had been from his own. Despite everything that had happened with his father, the dark haired man seemed well adjusted and full of a youthful optimism Arthur wasn’t sure he’d ever possessed. His own early teens had been spent pondering just why his parents seemed to despise his existence while simultaneously paying a fortune for a boarding school education; he still had no doubt that the equivalent amount would, if spent more wisely, feed a small third world country.

When school holidays had necessitated his return home, the atmosphere was prone to arguments; this usually resulted in what little self worth the young Arthur had built over the course of the previous term being utterly demolished by his sharp-tongued father or icy, resentful mother.

For a moment, Arthur allowed himself to mourn for that little boy. For the child left to cry after a nightmare, for the grazes not healed by a mothers kiss, for the teen left in fear of what was happening to his body with no father to explain it, and for the young man who’s only salvation had seen him witness horrors no-one should be forced to bear. As the long-distant echoes of gunfire reverberated inside his skull, Arthur pushed away from where he leaned against the doorjamb and roughly snatched the book Merlin was holding, desperate for distraction.

It was a copy of _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_ , which Merlin had been attempting to stuff into the gap between his desk and the wall. Arthur shook his head, half to clear it and half in disapproval.

“You absolute heathen! You do _not_ disrespect the bard in this way!”

Arthur cradled the book against his chest like a baby, surprised at the ferocity of his reaction. Merlin simply gawked at him, a half smile and a sparkle in his eyes betraying his amusement.

“Well, Mr Harrow-on-the-Hill, what’s your favourite play, since you seem to care so much?” asked Merlin, crossing his arms and quirking his brown in a way he had learned from his mother. Without missing a beat, Arthur replied, “Hamlet. I always loved the sword fighting and existential crises. And yours?”

“The Tempest, no question. I just liked the fairy.” Merlin paused in his reply, looking around him with a forlorn expression. “I’m so sorry about the mess, mate. If I’d known mum was going to offer this room to you, I’d have been in to clear it out! Most of this is junk anyway.”

Arthur waved away his words, slipping the book in his hand back onto the overcrowded shelf, taking in the countless knick-knacks scattered around as though little Merlin may return at any moment.

“Don’t be daft. I’m the interloper here, I really don’t mind. Your mum is doing me a huge favour - even if you do still have Pokèmon bedclothes.”

An offended squawk burst forth from Merlin’s mouth as he lunged towards the pale blue bedspread, pretending he had not been well over the age of twenty when he had purchased it. Levelling what he hoped passed for a hateful glare at Arthur, he stroked the little orange Charmander with the tip of one finger. Arthur rolled his eyes and started to rifle through the stack of clothes Hunith had left for him. They were mostly Merlin’s cast offs which would fit him as he was, but not once he started to eat more regularly and rebuild his strength. Still, he mused, they were good quality with plenty of wear left in them.

One particular sweater caught Arthur’s attention. It was a bright crimson, finely knitted in a soft wool that slipped sensuously across the pads of his fingers. It seemed almost brand new, not bobbled in the slightest, and Arthur itched to try it on.

“Mum clearly thinks red suits you,” Merlin laughed from where he perched cross legged on the bed. “That’s a lovely jumper - my gran knitted it for me years ago, but it was too big at the time and then it got forgotten over time. You should try it!”

Arthur fingered the sleeve a little, pensive and oddly moved that this had been hand knitted for Merlin The Idiot by someone who loved him. With a small sigh, he set it aside. It hadn’t been made for him and so he shouldn’t wear it, and he said as much.

Without so much as a by-your-leave, Merlin all but flew across the room with a stony expression, yanking Arthur’s arms into an upward position and jamming the jumper over his head.

“You know, I reckon my mum is the best thing to ever happen to you,” he muttered serenely, even as he jerked Arthur’s limbs around like an overgrown toddler, manoeuvring him into the offending article of clothing. “Whether you like it or not, you’re going to learn how to accept help. You’re going to sleep better, you’re going to gain weight, you’re going to earn some cash and heaven forfend, you are going to wear this bloody jumper! My gran worked her arthritic fingers to the bone and I’ll be damned if you try and act all noble about it!”

Panting, Merlin finally pulled the waistband fully into place, adjusting the collar of Arthur’s borrowed shirt underneath. He plucked at the shoulders, adjusted the cuffs, and then gave Arthur’s now messy hair a ruffle for good measure.

To his credit, Arthur took the abuse of his person manfully, only rolling his eyes twice and forcing down a total of seven insults. Merlin’s hands eventually came to rest on his shoulders, and Arthur found he didn’t entirely mind their warmth. He held out his arms with one brow elegantly arched.

“So? Is your mum right? Is red my colour?”

Arthur felt his face heat as Merlin trailed his eyes over his body, a foreign and long forgotten sensation fluttering in his stomach. It was only when their eyes met that the two men realised just how close together they were standing: their noses almost touching, Arthur could pick out the honey coloured flecks in Merlin’s pale eyes, invisible from any further away.

A cough from the doorway startled them apart, Merlin drawing his hands back as though he had been burned while turning to face his mother with an expression not unlike that of a thoroughly kicked puppy. The older woman clucked her tongue, valiantly fighting down the knowing smirk that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Right, my lad! A last cup of tea then you’re going home. You have work in the morning and I need to show Arthur around the place before I set him loose tomorrow. Say, can you do some jiggery-pokery on your old phone so that Arthur can have it?”

Before he could reply, Merlin had been swept out of the room and down the corridor into the kitchen, leaving Arthur standing in the middle of the floor confused, struck dumb and not a little bereft.

A short while later, long after the sun had set and Merlin had said his goodbyes, Arthur occupiedhimself washing their mugs while Hunith perused the Sunday headlines: Buckingham Palace refusing to comment on the state of the king’s health, the prime minister was under fire for allowing his advisor to break the law without consequences, and the owner of the three legged dog which had won Crufts had been outed as a benefit fraudster.

“Are you happy to just do some rooms for me tomorrow, love - military corners and all that? Then in the afternoon I can show you some front desk bits?” She asked, trying to tear her eyes away from one depressing story after another.

“That sounds perfect.”

Hunith raised her gaze and studied him as he worked, the sleeves of the crimson jumper rolled up over his slim forearms to bear his fragile wrists. The mother in her simply ached with sorrow for him - it was clear he was built to be a warrior, and instead had faded to a shadow of himself. Even so, the soft wool of the sweater stretched across his still-broad shoulders like a promise of things to come. He would feel better in himself if it killed her, she vowed, her heart softening as he paused to chuckle quietly at the tiny knitted cactus with googly eyes perched on the sill. Hunith pondered his reflection in the darkened window, unable to shake the sensation that she had seen him somewhere before. Another image of his high cheekbones and the exquisite curve of his jaw lingered somewhere on the edge of her consciousness, just out of reach.

Turning to face her with an expression filled with doubt, Arthur took a few steps forward, flexing and clenching his fists where they hung by his sides. He opened and closed his mouth twice, apparently searching for words he could not quite grasp. Being possessed of motherly instinct in absolute spades, Hunith knew what he was trying to say. Wordlessly, she stood and held open her arms, smiling a small, sad smile that he immediately returned before stepping into her embrace.

Arthur rested his cheek atop her head, allowing himself to feel comforted in a way he never had before. Was this what it was like to have a mother who loved you? Momentarily, Arthur resented Merlin with all he had, before the sensation melted into one of gratitude: he had chosen to share this wonderful woman with his new friend - to invite him into their family. Pulling away a little to smile up at him, Hunith thumbed gently at the fading bruise on his cheek.

“I know you’ve been hurt, Arthur,” she murmured softly, her lined face etched with kindness. “But you are safe here. We are your family now, and we will do everything in our power to ensure you never feel alone again.”

Arthur sniffed loudly, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “I’m not sure what I’ve done to warrant this,” came his broken reply. Hunith simply tilted his head down to kiss his soft blonde hair, before giving him one last squeeze and pulling away.

“Come on, off to bed with you. Honestly, you’re as bad as Merlin. You two will be like two peas in a pod before long, I think!”

—

The king lay on his side, cheek pillowed on his palm, studying the photograph upon the bedside table. His wife the queen dozed by the window, flaxen curls pressed into her cheek where it rested on the winged back of the armchair. Looking between the picture and the woman in front of him, he could see she had aged, although time had stolen none of her beauty. The most noticeable difference lay in the worry lines around her eyes and the faint indent between her brows: this photograph held a woman with no worries, who rarely frowned and who had the rest of her life to look forward to.

His pale grey eyes trailed over the image of the three of them; himself, his wife and their newborn son. His prince, his heir, their firstborn child - the child they loved so much. The child that had been stolen from them, lost without a trace. Not even the king could pursue a person who had vanished into thin air, it seemed. As he fought back a wave of nausea, he thought of their daughter, whom he adored. Never in a thousand years would he regret her birth, but still… There was a part of him that yearned for the son he had never known. His son was alive, he knew, and was somewhere out there in the wide world, hopefully whole and healthy.

If these were to be his last days on earth, he would redouble the efforts that had stretched continually for over twenty five years. He would tear the world apart all over again, if he had to. With a deep, shuddering breath saturated with pain and longing, King Uther Pendragon vowed to himself he would find his son.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh-er, it's all kicking off.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little bitty chapter, my apologies, but all of these things are needed to move the story along! If you like it, tell your friends. I'm super proud of this little work and would love to see it do well. 
> 
> Plus, I got into Cambridge today to do creative writing so... that's pretty cool. x

_Sand in his eyes and in his mouth, Corporal Arthur Owens ducked his head and ran for it, gun held close to his side. With an unpleasant jolt in his stomach, he leapt over the prostrate form of one of his friends - he dared not stop to find out who it was. There would be time to mourn later. Across his comms, a voice screamed at him to stop - to think, to come back. It was Leon, of course: Arthur’s second in command railed against his senior officer’s decision to draw the fire while the rest of the unit evacuated even as he helped them pile into the trucks._

_Suddenly, Arthur felt pain bloom in his side, a sunburst of white exploding behind his eyes as he stumbled. Glancing down, he saw red beginning to soak through his khakis. Being hit this early in the game was not what he’d intended, but it had given his comrades in arms time to escape, hadn’t it? Arthur continued to sprint across the open plain, barely registering the crack of each bullet that whipped past him, close enough to ruffle his clothes. There was a sound of running behind him, and he knew he was only seconds from being caught by one of the Daesh militants._

_The strength in his legs beginning to wane as he lost more blood, the vice like grip that abruptly clamped around his waist was almost welcome, enemy or not. He found himself being hauled backwards, crying out against the jostling of his wound, all but ready to black out in pain. A split second passed and the world was upside down: the person who had grabbed him had slung him over a shoulder in some kind of undignified fireman’s lift and had begun to bolt back in the direction he’d just come._

_Arthur flailed and kicked but Leon was having none of it - for who else would it be? In what felt like no time at all, the final truck was in sight. Ignoring every single one of Arthur’s protests, Leon all but stuffed him into the passenger side, jumped inside himself and turned the key in the ignition, but not before a faint whistling noise sounded overhead. Through hazy eyes, Arthur watched the two trucks in the distance speed up - before disaster struck._

_The moment of impact came not with an immediate explosion, but instead with a moment of dense, solid silence. Along with the blood-soaked warmth of his abdomen, Arthur felt his heart tighten so painfully he was sure it would burst in his chest: the anguish was too great, surely no one would be able to survive it. Leon let out an audible sob as he took in the plumes of smoke on the horizon, all that remained of their unit - of their friends._

Arthur awoke absolutely soaked in cold sweat, tangled in the duvet and completely at a loss as to where he was. To calm himself, he ran the pads of his fingers over the sizeable scar on his abdomen, breathing deeply through his nose as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Dimly, he remembered he was safe in the spare bedroom at Merlin’s mum’s house, rather than bleeding out on a battlefield while the only family he’d ever known were obliterated by enemy fire. He trembled in shame as he recalled how he’d desperately charged into the firing line to save them and had instead been one of only two to survive. He wondered where Leon was now, and whether he was having a better time of it than him.

—

Gaius levelled Merlin with a searching stare, the report about the Crufts winner writ large on the screen of his computer. The younger man looked at his boots, desperately avoiding what he knew was coming: The Eyebrow of Doom. With a long-suffering sigh, Gaius ran a hand through his long white hair.

“You’re an excellent writer, Merlin. I wouldn’t have hired you if you weren’t, even if your father was a dear friend.” Gaius paused for a moment at the mention of Balinor, and Merlin turned his face towards him to show his own respect. When the old man continued, his tone was grave. “However, I must admit your work is just not passing muster at the moment, my boy.”

“I know,” Merlin responded, slumping back desolately and passing his palms over his face in despondence. “I just can’t find anything that really _pops_ , you know? Everything I write, I feel like I’m forcing it.”

“We’ve all been there. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t suppose you could just stick me on hatches, matches and dispatches until I strike it lucky, could you?”

And there it was, The Eyebrow of Doom. Automatically, Merlin shrank a little further back into his chair while all the while unable to look away.

“I’ll thank you to hold back on your cheek, you young whippersnapper,” said Gaius. “Those of us here at the Central London Echo don’t have time for such nonsense. But yes, I’ll do that for you. Deal with the _births, marriages and deaths_ for a month - that’ll lead us into the new year just nicely. By the end of January I need an excellent scoop on my desk, is that understood? Use your time wisely.”

Back at his desk, Merlin exhaled slowly, feeling as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It may only be a short reprieve, but it was more time, which was really all he needed. Merlin was still convinced there was a story just waiting in the wings for him to discover, and he had faith that when the time was right, he would. Making him jump, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a text from Gwen, asking if he fancied a drink after work. He replied the affirmative, before setting himself to work. He was not going to let Gaius down.

—

When he arrived at the pub, Merlin immediately spied Gwen secreted at a corner table with two glasses of rosé wine in front of her.

“Ooft, rough day?” he grinned, kissing the top of her curly mop of hair before tossing himself into the seat opposite. He felt good; the day of work he’d turned in had been satisfying in many small ways. Gwen smiled sadly and pushed one glass towards him.

“Peace offering,” she replied, accepting his toast. Merlin frowned at her, genuinely nonplussed.

“For what?”

“Putting my foot in it yesterday with Arthur. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

“What?! Oh, you daft bint, it’s fine! He’s okay!”

“He doesn’t hate me?”

“Gwen, hating you is an actual physical impossibility, you’re an angel. Don’t get me wrong, your wording could have been better, but… no, honestly, it’s all good.”

The look of wide-eyed relief that unfurled across Gwen’s face at that moment only served to make her look even more beautiful than usual. With a small hitch of laughter, she took a gulp of wine before slamming the glass back to the table and thinning her sweet smile into a smirk.

Merlin sipped at his wine nonchalantly, noting with pleasure she had chosen a Pinot Grigio blush - his absolute favourite. Gwen, bless her, lasted an entire nine seconds before losing control.

“So? What’s the deal with Arthur?”

“What do you mean? Mum has given him a job at the B&B and he’s staying in my old room. She’s a good egg, my ol’ mum.”

Rolling her eyes against Merlin’s fond smile, Gwen kicked her friend under the table.

“Shut up! That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

“I honestly have absolutely no bloody idea what you’re on about. Crazy woman.”

“You are seriously telling me you don’t think he is absolutely to _die_ for?!”

Spluttering, Merlin clapped a hand to his chest in a mockery of disputed virtue.

“Just because I’m a big bisexual disaster doesn’t mean I automatically drop my trousers for every pair of pretty blue eyes that moon in my direction, you know!”

“Ah, so you admit his eyes are pretty!”

Finally, Merlin allowed his mind to trail back to the previous night when Arthur and himself had been all but nose to nose in the middle of his teenage bedroom. He’d made a point of valiantly distracting himself every time the memory had arisen, because yes, Arthur really did have pretty eyes. Very pretty eyes. Eyes that were an altogether too beautiful shade of cornflower blue, now that he really considered it. Across the table, Gwen’s smirk widened.

“Now who’s mooning?” She tittered, taking another sip of her wine. With a sigh, Merlin shook his head.

“Okay, you’ve got me, he’s gorgeous. More to the point, I’m not sure he’s actually one hundred percent straight - but it doesn’t even matter, anyway. I almost feel like I’m responsible for him now, and imagine the abuse of trust if I made a move on him! I do have _some_ morals, you know.”

“You’ll forgive me if the main thing I take from this is that he’s not straight and you’ve already considered your stance on making a move?! Secondly…” Gwen paused, reaching across the table to press a palm to his pale forehead. “Are you feeling alright? A journalist with ethics - there’s got to be something wrong, here.”

With an undignified snort, Merlin tilted his face upwards and licked Gwen’s palm. She recoiled in disgust, wiping the saliva on the knee of his jeans before and giving him her best Hunith-esque frown. The man huffed a gentle laugh, holding his own hands up in defeat.

“Alright, alright, I know when I’m beaten… but I really do not think you are in any position to talk when I know for a fact you still practice writing _Mrs Gwen DuLac_ on your order pad at the cafe. Every. Damn. Day.”

—

Arthur exhaled slowly, adjusting the heavy box of goodness-knows-what in his arms. The blue t-shirt he wore was soaked with sweat: for forty five minutes he had been pulling in a delivery of kitchen supplies on his own, all but chaining Hunith to the reception desk as he humphed boxes of various sizes up the stairs. He very much enjoyed the hard physical labour - though his muscles ached, it was exhilarating to be able to feel them at all. Arthur had always been fit, whether it had been thanks to the football team or the fencing team or the cross country team or, eventually, the British Army, he’d always been lean and strong.

Eighteen months out of active combat and little over a year of malnutrition on the streets had caused him to wither a little more as every day passed, but for the first time since the enemy bullet had entered his gut, he felt the satisfying burn of a good workout. With a satisfied grin, he stacked the final box in the corner, pleased as punch by the neatness of his arrangement; it seemed so many years of random barracks inspections had done him good.

Hunith also seemed to be pleased with him, which was gratifying. Although only a few days had passed, she treated Arthur as another son, delivering tasks for completion like a good boss should, but always with an affectionate hair ruffle to soften them. A glance at the clock told him she’d be taking a break for some tea around now, as most guests would be heading out to go to the theatre or other evening pursuits. In an effort to repay her kindness in any small way he could, Arthur made her a mug just how she liked it, pootling up the stairs to the flat in the attic. He found Hunith on the floor of the living room, surrounded by Christmas decorations.

“Merlin is coming over tonight - we always do the tree the week before Christmas. Thanks, love,” she added, taking the mug from Arthur and taking a sip like a woman dying of thirst. Arthur settled into the armchair by the window, folding his legs underneath himself and willing away the rush of absolute belonging that threatened to drown him.

“That’ll be lovely - I’ll be sure to stay out of your hair,” Arthur replied, taking a generous slurp of his own beverage. Scoffing, Hunith threw a bauble at him.

“You’ll do no such thing. You’ll be having dinner with us and then helping, thank you very much. We’re both too flighty to properly coordinate putting the lights on; always end up in a terrible fankle over it, the pair of us. We need someone with discipline.”

Arthur laughed out loud, watching fondly as she pulled a long rope of lights from the pile. It was knotted around itself in the most hopeless fashion, and Arthur itched to get his hands on it to make it right. Solving problems was something he’d always enjoyed. Another projectile was lobbed in his direction - this time an envelope, with his name and the address of the B&B on it.

“Your first payslip - I always like to pay by the week, and you’ve worked here five whole days now! I’m sorry it’s not much.”

Inside the envelope was a little sheet of paper - handwritten, with a little motherly ‘x’ at the bottom - which detailed an entire two hundred and fifty British pounds was payable to a Mr Arthur Owens.

Unbidden, tears welled in Arthur’s eyes. He’d never had this much money at one time: his small wages from the army had always gone towards buying rounds for his comrades and had eventually run out upon his return to London. He still had his bank account, and Merlin had set up mobile banking on the ratty old iPhone he had given him. Upon checking, sure enough, there was a number on the screen, considerably higher than zero. Unable to stop himself, he slumped to the floor and gathered Hunith into his arms, crying shamelessly against her shoulder.

They remained in this position for quite some time, Arthur clinging onto this human embodiment of benevolence as though his life depended upon it. She did not speak, only held him tightly with one arm and smoothed his fair hair with her free hand.

A bang from the hallway indicated Merlin had arrived, and Arthur chose that moment to pull away, wiping the tears from his eyes and the snot from his nose with the tissue Hunith quickly pressed into his palm. He smiled at her gratefully as Merlin’s long figure entered the room, chucking a box from Greggs onto the table and flopping down onto the couch, his legs crossed at the ankles.

The younger man glanced at the scene before him - Arthur’s red-rimmed eyes, the payslip, their positions on the floor - and in a display of tact that surprised everyone present, decided not to ask. Instead, he toed off his Converse and indicated the box on the coffee table with one long finger.

“Christmas biscuits from Greggs - I thought we could all do with a treat. I’m so glad I can work from home for the next two weeks. I tell you, the thought of sitting in that damn office listening to the brass band in Tavistock Square playing the same songs over and over was destroying me.” He reached out and took a biscuit for himself: a little Christmas snowman, iced in white. “Where’s my tea?” He added, clearly the king of sass after a long day of staring at a screen. Hunith smacked his shin, rolling her eyes.

“Get it yourself, you lazy thing. I’m going back down to the desk for an hour before Claudia takes over, then we’re all having dinner. Go on then, hop to it!”

With a laugh, Merlin skittered through to their private kitchen, Hunith hot on his heels. Arthur decided to follow as well, padding through to the kitchen in the hopes Merlin would make him a second cup of tea. The click of the front door and departing footsteps indicated Hunith had indeed returned to work.

The pair had not been alone together since the odd frisson between them a few days previously, and yet they settled easily into the rhythm they had set at Merlin’s bedsit, no words needed as they pottered around the much more spacious room.

“Hard to believe you nearly died a week ago, eh?” Merlin hummed conversationally, reaching around Arthur for the teabags. The blonde pursed his lips, ducking under Merlin’s arm as he rinsed his cup, dried it, and placed it firmly next to Merlin’s on the counter.

“It wasn’t exactly on my agenda to think about that tonight, cheers,” sighed Arthur, nibbling nervously at the ragged skin around his thumb. With a displeased ‘ _tsk’_ , Merlin automatically reached across and removed the offending digit from Arthur’s mouth, smoothing his own thumb over the skin there.

“Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself,” he chided, indicating Arthur should grab the milk from the fridge simply by shifting his gaze in that direction.

“Sorry _mum_ ,” Arthur replied, bumping his shoulder to Merlin’s as he passed. The easiness of the interaction made his heart clench in his chest. “Old habits die hard.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, stirring the teabags around in the mugs with a detached, faraway look in his eyes. Still without speaking, he moved to put the teabags in the bin, while Arthur swooped in immediately to add milk. Their team work really was a well oiled machine, and the realisation made not looking at Arthur from the corner of his eye almost impossible.

They settled themselves at opposite ends of the couch, Arthur with the depressingly tangled lights piled in his lap. Merlin watched as he set his tea aside and began to deftly unwind them, clever fingers working steadily to undo each knot in a slow, methodical manner.

“What do you want for Christmas dinner?” blurted the brunette. The blonde looked up, confused.

“I’m going to the shelter at Southwark for Christmas, to help out, you know? They run a dinner for those in the area that need it. I figured it’d be nice for me to give something back, since I’m kind of in a position to.” As if by magic, the cogs began to turn in Merlin’s mind. Arthur’s bemused expression turned into one of unrest. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you think you could do me the biggest favour anyone has ever done for another person?” Merlin asked, shifting to his knees and arranging his features into what he prayed was a suitably pleading expression. The corners of Arthur’s mouth twitched, but the rest of his face remained impassive.

“That definitely depends on what it is.”

“Well, first off, you’re having Christmas lunch here. We always get up late, have a big lunch then veg out after we’ve watched the king’s speech. Does that fit with your plans?”

“I mean, it can do, but-”

“Secondly, can I come help? At the shelter, I mean?”

“This all sounds very much like you doing me favours again, not vice versa."

“I’m getting to that part!” Merlin wrung his hands, knowing in his heart this was a huge imposition and Arthur would be perfectly within his rights to decline. When he spoke, Merlin’s voice was imploring, his words garbled in his hurry to get them out before he flaked it.“ _I_ need a heartwarming article to save my arse at work. _You’re_ turning out to be an absolute Christmas angel. Can I write about you?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is fluff and family bonding and developing crushes and I have to admit, I love it.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, a small huff of irritation escaping him as he turned his narrowed eyes upon Merlin at the opposite end of the couch. The darker haired man gripped the cup in his hands so tightly his knuckles grew white.

“You cannot be serious,” muttered Arthur, fighting back a flare of anger. Merlin saw the rage as it flashed across his face, and the tone of his voice was placating.

“I’m not asking you for any kind of full disclosure interview or anything - just a little Christmas cheer. That’s all. You’re a good guy and it seems like you’re going to be able to do good things for people who need it.”

Pouting, Arthur began to stroke his chin, pondering what benefits he could extract from Merlin in return. Not for himself, of course, given as it was only thanks to the apparently boundless generosity of the man in question, his friends and his mother that he was even able to serve at the shelter rather than making use of the facilities himself.

“Fine. On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Use the article as a drive to raise money for the shelter. I don’t want to be the focus; direct public’s attention to the fact that the people they walk past every day are human beings and even a kind word goes a long way.”

Merlin did not even have to consider his response. With a firm nod, he held out a hand for Arthur to shake. Their grip was warm, strong and sure, and if their palms lingered a little too long… well, who was counting, really? By the time Hunith returned little more than an hour later, their plans were set in stone, and she heartily agreed to give her son up on Christmas night for such a good cause.

Arthur, so used to devouring any kind of food he was presented with in case he didn’t eat again for days, all but inhaled the macaroni cheese Merlin placed in front of him while mother and son bickered over where to start with the Christmas tree. They ate slowly, one forkful at a time as they divided the mismatched decorations into piles dependant on where they belonged in the flat. Before long, Merlin had dashed off to sprinkle ornaments around the house: a pretty crystal reindeer for the kitchen window (which Hunith assured Arthur was actually plastic: apparently Merlin’s clumsiness was hereditary), a handmade wreath for the door that led from the rest of the B&B and an all singing, all dancing Santa Clause for the bathroom because _why the hell not_.

As requested, Arthur took charge of the tree lighting situation, using all of his battle planning skills to ensure they quickly and efficiently got tied up in absolute knots again, laughing and cursing like a bunch of naughty schoolchildren. Merlin watched with gentle fascination as Arthur collapsed backwards, literally tangled in the lights, laughing so heartily tears had begun to leak from the corners of his eyes.

Had it really only been a week ago that Gwaine had stumbled over Arthur on the pavement, quite literally freezing to death? Who was this man before him now, so beautiful and open and deeply kind, so eager to see the good in people that he would entrust his wellbeing to perfect strangers? He was already filling out a little, Merlin noticed; the borrowed t-shirts hugged ever so slightly closer than they had before, his cheeks a little more full, his wrists a little less fragile. He’d been lifting his dad’s old dumbbells in the bedroom, Merlin knew, and Arthur had also mentioned that he intended to begin running in the mornings, which Merlin thought was genuinely mental.

With his hysteria under control, Arthur set to work once more, this time declining any help and managing to do a fairly decent job of evenly dispersing the bulbs. Hunith nudged her son with one pointy elbow when she noticed the way his gaze followed every movement the other man made, wiggling her eyebrows in a most uncouth fashion. Merlin felt his cheeks heat, but couldn’t quite tamp down on the guilty little grin that crept up onto his face.

The unreserved, gleeful joy on Arthur’s face as he met Merlin’s eyes very nearly took his breath away, and he stood to help with the tinsel, hauling his mother to her feet as he did so. They could never decide on a colour scheme, so by their annual mutual agreement, chaos became the order of the day. Strands of red, gold and green were soon wrapped around the tree - Merlin, as usual, simply chucked them on haphazardly and Hunith went around fixing them afterwards. Arthur found this uncommonly funny, chortling to himself as he began to select baubles and chocolates and all manner of other knick knacks to bedeck the branches.

To his astonishment, the newest member of the family was given the sought after task of placing the star on top of the tree. It was a tired old thing made out of pipe cleaners and silver foil, but the way Merlin handled it, it may as well have been carved of solid diamond.

“Balinor - that is, Merlin’s dad - made it when Merlin was a little boy. It’s silly to keep it, I know, but it’s almost like having a small piece of him here,” Hunith murmured sadly, watching as Arthur took the precious star into his grasp with as much reverence as Merlin did, eager to show his respect to this clearly very cherished tradition. The dark haired man whipped his phone out and took photos as Arthur placed the star atop the tree, positing the excuse that they would look cute in the article. With an eye roll so vigorous it looked almost painful, Hunith snatched the phone from her son’s hand and ushered them to stand in front of the tree together.

“My boys…” she smiled, snapping photo after photo as they talked and bantered, their stiff, awkward postures quickly relaxing until they were turned in towards one another, foreheads almost touching as they sniped good-naturedly back and forth. “First family Christmas!” Hunith added, turning on the front facing camera and taking a selfie of the three of them with the tree in the background.

When they had collapsed, exhausted, onto various pieces of furniture, Arthur’s gaze returned to the little handmade star which meant so much.

“What did Balinor do?” he asked quietly, leaning back into the sofa cushions and swinging his legs around so he was stretched along the length of it, bringing Merlin just within kicking distance.

“He did a lot of things,” Merlin smiled, closing his eyes. “I remember him being great at woodwork. Wasn’t he, mum?”

“He was. He was a proper craftsman, he really wanted to bring woodcraft to a more mainstream audience, but, well - it’s a bit niche, isn’t it? So most of the time, he was a driver.”

“A driver?” Arthur queried, picturing a big man in a sixteen wheeler HGV bringing goods over the English Channel.

“Yes. He loved cars, he did. Started off with an agency in Cardiff, driving limos for the mayor and the politicians whenever they needed him. Then over time he built himself a reputation and ended up being offered a private chauffeur job for the royal family.”

This stopped Arthur in his tracks, his eyes growing wide in surprise.

“Yeah, mate, they’re quite well off, live in a big house in the middle of London, you might have seen it-”

Merlin’s cheek was rewarded with a swift kick to the thigh. It hadn’t really hurt, but he made a show of pouting and rubbing the affected spot; Arthur ignored him, choosing instead to tuck his chilly feet between Merlin’s back and the sofa cushion instead.

“I met them once, you know. They were very lovely - especially the queen. I’ll always remember how striking she was. Beautiful, curly blonde hair, blue eyes; it’s quite uncommon, you know. Balinor always spoke so highly of her, even after their little boy was kidnapped and their whole world fell apart, he said she was always unfailingly kind.”

“It turned out that was true - they gave us a load of help when he was sick, and then when he died. That’s why we got this place,” Merlin finished, gesturing carelessly at the room around them, and the B&B downstairs by extension.

When Hunith spoke next, her voice was dense with emotion. “Yes, this was the little dream we’d shared, Bal and I. When we retired, we were going to buy a B&B and spend our lives just pootling around it while our son went off and lived a grand life.” She stopped and looked down, running a finger absently over a small worn patch on the arm of her chair. “Sometimes I still think he’s just popped out for a pint of milk and he’ll come barging through the door in that way of his - you know the way, darling - with that deep voice that shook you to your core. Sometimes I think he’s just slipped out of sight for a moment, and that I can still hear him, if I listen hard enough.”

Wordlessly, Merlin slipped from the couch and walked on his knees over to where his mother sat, laying his dark head in her lap and closing his eyes. She stroked his hair, and Arthur felt he should look away from this shared grief which was evidently still so raw.

“Sorry, boys, forgive an old woman her maudlin moments. Just promise me, if you every get the chance to love someone with your whole soul, take it. Even if you have your doubts, even if you know it’ll all end in tears - it’s worth it.”

As she spoke, she tilted Merlin up by the chin, stroking his jaw with her thumb as her gaze flitted from pale eyes to paler and then back again. With a sniff, Merlin nodded, and Arthur gave a stiff quirk of his head in assent.

Hunith excused herself then, assuring Merlin he could sleep on the couch if he wanted to avoid travelling back to his flat this late. With a kiss to both of their foreheads, she was gone. The two young men sat in silence for a time, the only sound the faint voices echoing from the room below. Merlin rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes, embarrassed.

“Sorry about that. Dad died just after Christmas, so it’s always a bit of a tough time for us.”

Arthur held up his hands, indicating no harm had been done.

“I always wonder how I’ll feel when my parents go,” he murmured as Merlin returned to his spot on the sofa, stretching his legs out alongside Arthur’s. “I haven’t seen them in over a decade, but as far as I know they’re still alive. I wonder if I’ll even care. Do you think that makes me a bad person?”

They contemplated one another as Merlin considered his answer, letting his gaze linger on the way the rainbow hues of the festive lights reflected in Arthur’s eyes; they looked almost violet in the half darkness. He took a deep breath through his nose, folding his hands across his stomach.

“No,” began Merlin, his voice soft. “I don’t think it makes you a bad person.”

“I look at what you and your mum have, and how much you love each other. I want that. I want to be loved that much.”

“And who’s to say you can’t have it?”

Ducking his head at the implication, Merlin turned his full and focused attention towards the carpet: a sight exponentially more fascinating than it had been a moment ago. Arthur apparently missed the weight behind the statement, barking out a short, humourless laugh.

“It’s too late for my parents. They’d have to undo twenty seven years of absolutely detesting the sight of me. Do you know, Christmas was just like any other day in our house. They’d put up a huge tree in the living room, buy each other expensive gifts, have a professionally cooked dinner together - I did my homework, had dinner in my room and went to bed.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Part of me would love to see them. I’d kind of like to be able to tell them exactly what I think of them, of what they did to me. More than anything I just want to know why.”

Merlin shuffled a breath closer until the length of their legs were pressed together, the contact warm and grounding.

“We should go.”

“When?”

“After Christmas, maybe?”

There ensued a very pregnant pause, as the blonde pondered his options. “Will you come with me?”

It wasn’t so much a question as a plea: _please help me, please support me, please stay by my side, please don’t leave me alone again_. A resolute nod was the only response Merlin could muster, his throat thick with a swell of emotion he had no name for. Arthur made a choked off sound that would have been funny under any other circumstances, eyes growing misty underneath that soft veil of blonde.

Turning any impending sentiment into a cough and then a yawn, Arthur nudged Merlin aside with his foot, swinging sideways into a standing position and stretching languorously. The dark haired man averted his eyes, resolutely ignoring the way the too-snug t-shirt rose up to reveal the divots that bracketed the base of Arthur’s spine. He most certainly did _not_ have to fight back the urge to place his mouth there. No sir. Not a bit of it. It was a relief when Arthur bid him goodnight.

—

Merlin lay flat on his back on the little couch, searching for patterns in the plasterwork of the ceiling. He’d always enjoy this inanity of it, the ability to completely lose oneself in a task so ultimately pointless yet entirely satisfying. So far, in the hours he’d lain awake, he’d spotted a giant with a very long neck, a medieval castle, two different types of sailboat and a herd of elephants being chased by a UFO.

Through the wall, he heard a muffled cry. Morosely, Merlin wondered if Arthur was having nightmares every single night and whether they shouldn’t try and find some help for him once things had settled down a little, if he’d consent to it.

For the first time, Merlin consciously recognised the warm swooping in his stomach as a sensation too far left of platonic to be ignored any longer. Even the most gifted of psychics could no have foretold the fact that the grubby, slightly pathetic looking homeless man being taunted by a couple of ratty thugs would so quickly wind Merlin around his little finger. That they would stumble across each other not once but twice, falling almost immediately and irrevocably into a codependency from which they may never escape. The guilt that coiled in a darkened corner of his heart flickered to life, reminding him he had a duty of care, not only as a friend but as a journalist. Where had his ethics disappeared to? Just because Arthur’s presence happened to make him feel particularly soft and warm and safe did not mean he had the right to overstep any boundaries. He would not betray Arthur’s trust.

Despite this knowledge, Merlin found himself swiping through the photographs from earlier in the evening. His traitorous heart hammered out a samba against his rib cage as he zoomed in to Arthur’s face, bedecked in unabashed joy at the simple task of decorating a tree. His chest literally _ached_ as he reached one where Arthur was looking towards him, arm outstretched with the star in hand, mouth wide in a laugh at something Merlin had said.

Swiping further, he chuckled darkly at the ones his mother had taken. They’d looked so awkward at first, like a pair of strangers pushed together in the street for a staged photo opportunity. Even as the photographs progressed, Merlin could see their body language change. They seemed to move in sync with one another, different as they were. Blonde, brunette. Tanned, pale. Broad, slim. The seemed to fit together so perfectly in every way; a thought which made Merlin’s mind slip to a forbidden place he had no desire to even contemplate, here on his mother’s couch with the object of his fantasy literally on the other side of the wall.

Merlin groaned in frustration. What the fuck was he doing?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling the love, folks! Thank you so much for your kind words so far. I am going to post this chapter then take a couple of days off because I'm spending more time writing than doing anything else and even though the UK is in lockdown, I'd love to remember what fresh air feels like. 
> 
> Take care! x

Buckingham Palace was a veritable hive of activity. For the first time, not only the reigning monarch would deliver the Christmas Day address; this year, he would be joined by his wife and daughter. King Uther sat sandwiched between two of the most important people in his life, glancing to his queen on his right and their princess on his left. They both clutched one of his hands in theirs, the knowledge that this may well be their last public appearance together weighing heavily upon their shoulders.

Morgana smoothed a thumb over the back of his hand, lingering a little over the spot where his skin was particularly papery and thin; the purple thread of his veins stood out starkly like rivers on a map. His beloved queen, Igraine, fielded any and every question posed by the videographers, her strength and courage steadfast even as his own was beginning to wane.

As a family, they knew they must do this. They knew that it was Uther’s dying wish to meet his son, and despite everything that told them to do otherwise, each member of the Pendragon family harboured a small, flickering flame of hope in their heart; their shared dream to be together as a complete unit, even if only for an hour. The search for the prince had long since gone underground: no longer a public royal struggle, but instead a private battle which they waged together each and every day.

The message would be recorded this afternoon and then broadcast the following day, on Christmas. Despite himself, Uther trembled. This was his last hope.

—

If Arthur was not very much mistaken, he was having a panic attack. Frantic, he scanned the shop floor for Merlin, sweat beading upon his brow as he was jostled, shoved and pushed by the throngs of last minute Christmas shoppers. He tried to call out, but his voice died in his constricted throat. Gripping his brown paper bag filled with purchases as though his life depended on it, Arthur forced his legs to move; one step, then two. In the distance, he could see the distinctive brown suede jacket and blue scarf as Merlin browsed through the shoes, apparently oblivious to the fact Christmas Eve was entirely the wrong day to come to Primark on Oxford Street.

As though drawn by an invisible force, Merlin turned his head just before Arthur reached him, his ready smile collapsing into a frown as he took in Arthur’s condition. Without missing a beat, he reached out and grasped Arthur’s hand, pulling him from the shop into the busy street outside. Seemingly oblivious to the sweaty palm he held, he tugged his friend towards an empty doorway just off the main drag, his eyes concerned.

“I've got you, I've got you. Try and tell me five things you can see,” Merlin said levelly. Arthur’s eyes darted all over, his head spinning.

“The sky is grey. Your hair is black. Um… There’s a clock in that shop window. A bus just drove past. There’s a pigeon on the pavement.” 

“Good, now give me four things you can touch.”

“The bag full of clothes. The wall behind me. The ground under my feet. You’re holding my hand.”

Stopping short, Merlin looked down and saw that this was indeed still the case. He made to pull away, but Arthur only gripped him tighter, his breaths still laboured.

“Three things you can hear,” continued the brunette, taking the opportunity to thread his fingers through Arthur’s on the pretence of grounding him.

“There’s Christmas music playing. A car horn just sounded.”

“Fantastic. You’re doing well. Two things you can smell?”

“Doughnuts and your aftershave.”

Arthur’s mouth quirked a little at this, the deep breath he took more to savour the scents than to steady himself. Even as his heart stuttered, Merlin noticed a little tension dropping from the broad shoulders.

“One thing you can taste.”

It was unmistakable, the way Arthur’s eyes flickered to his lips. The moment lasted just a fraction of a second, but Merlin knew he would dine out on the wriggle in his belly for months to come. When Arthur spoke, his voice cracked a little.

“I can’t taste anything, but I feel okay now.”

In a show of uncharacteristic defencelessness, Arthur did not flinch away as Merlin reached out his free hand and settled it over his heart, pleased to feel the pounding rhythm not too dissimilar to his own.

“What happened?” queried Merlin, taking a step back and releasing all points of contact with the other man. Arthur slumped against the wall with a shrug, massaging his temple.

“I don’t know. I think there was just too much happening. I haven’t been shopping since - well, ever, actually - and I got overwhelmed. I feel so stupid.”

It was with deliberate and not inconsiderable force that the blonde threw his head back, cracking it against the brickwork so hard that he grimaced in pain. He hissed through his teeth, screwing up his eyes against the lights that danced before them.

“Arthur - what the fuck?” Merlin cried, at his side in an instant and cradling the back of Arthur’s head in both of his hands, soothing his thumbs across the bump already forming under his hat.

Arthur’s voice, already so deep, was almost too low to hear when he spoke again. “I’m such a fuck up.” With a soft, sad sigh, he relaxed back into Merlin’s touch with a deep furrow of worry between his brows.

A few beats of silence passed. As though shrugging off the overcoat which were his deeply buried emotions, Arthur opened his eyes and thinned his lips into a hard line.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin asked, stilling his ministrations. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not a fucking baby, Merlin. I wish you’d stop treating me like one. I’ll see you at - at home. At your mum’s place.”

With that, Arthur pushed past Merlin and strode away, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

—

It was tradition for Hunith to close up shop for a few days over Christmas. It was the only real time off she gave herself during the year, and Christmas Eve was her annual boozy lunch with her school friends.

As expected, the flat was deserted when the two men crashed inside, kicking off their shoes and staunchly ignoring one another. A whirlwind of blonde hair and furrowed brows, Arthur stormed straight into the bathroom to try on his new clothes, slamming the door with a little more vigour than strictly necessary. With the air of a man disconsolate, Merlin traipsed through to the kitchen, dragging his feet and slumping pathetically against the counter as he waited for the kettle to boil.

Resting his chin atop his open palm, he muttered a string of obscenities that would have earned him a sound thrashing, had his mother been around to hear him. The sensible part of his brain knew that Arthur couldn’t help it: it would take time, effort and quite possibly professional help for him to stop seeing everyone around him as enemies, to see offers of comfort as just that, as opposed to a bodily threat upon his person. The other, less well reasoned part of Merlin’s mind, however, had a very large crush - this caused anger to burn in his chest alongside insistent pangs of hurt at the sudden, abrupt brush off.

He said as much to Jeff, the little knitted cactus on the kitchen windowsill, reattaching one of his googly eyes as he did so. A gentle laugh sounded from behind him, and Merlin turned to find Arthur hovering just inside the room. He had changed his clothes; he now wore a soft white shirt and black chinos Merlin had helped him choose, with the old red jumper over the top, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He was barefoot, as usual. Despite his anger, Merlin’s mouth went a little dry at the sight of him.

“What’s the story behind your little friend?” asked Arthur, offering a small conciliatory smile. He jerked back like a wounded animal when Merlin simply shrugged, running his tongue over his front teeth in a way which spoke plainly of his bruised ego. The blonde took a few steps towards him, ending up decidedly too close. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, crowding yet closer until there was mere inches between them, their warm breath mingling in the small gap that separated their mouths.

“It hurts when you push me away, Arthur. I’m only trying to help,” replied Merlin, cursing internally as his chin began to tremble - damn this man, he’d be the death of him. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Arthur nodded.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Like the brush of a butterflies wing, Arthur’s finger came up to touch Merlin’s cheekbone. Though only the gentlest of grazes, the contact set a fire under Merlin’s skin. He searched Arthur’s face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort, but saw only a reflection of his own eagerness in the other man’s eyes. The space between their lips closed, only a breath between them. Merlin could practically taste him -

The sound of the door slamming startled them apart, Arthur skittering across the floor like Bambi on ice while Merlin whirled around to begin making the tea as though his heart was not trying to burst through his ribcage.

“Arthur!” Hunith cried, grasping the man in question by the biceps and looking him up and down. “You look smashing! I’m so glad you went shopping - how lovely to see you in your own clothes. Are you too warm, darling? You look flushed.”

“Hm? No, Hunith, I’m fine,” he replied, tugging a little at the collar of the shirt that was suddenly a little too tight around his throat, looking anywhere but at Merlin as he accepted the steaming mug of tea he proffered. Narrowing her eyes, Hunith accepted her own cup and looked between the two young men who stood on either side of her like Californian Redwoods flanking a sapling. With a cry of realisation, she slapped her hand to her forehead.

“Oh, no, mummy interrupted! So sorry! I’m gone, I’m gone, you’ll be seeing no more of me-”

“What? Mum, no!” Merlin protested, grabbing her by the wrist. “Are you _drunk_?”

The fact that the woman all but dissolved into a puddle of giggles answered his question, and soon the other two joined in with titters that grew to chuckles which grew to full belly laughs.

“I really am so sorry,” hiccuped Hunith a short while later from her perch on the edge of the armchair, empty mug of tea swinging from her fingertips. She swayed a little where she sat, the bottomless champagne finally catching up with her. “Should have realised you’d want the place to yourselves for a bit. Do you want me to go to bed?”

Merlin felt a flush rise in his cheeks at the insinuation, and saw Arthur shift a little in his seat.

“Don’t be daft, woman. We always watch Miracle on 34th Street with a drink and that’s not changing just because you let Janice practically drown you in a bucket of cheap plonk. You’ll have a pint of water, yes?” His mother nodded sheepishly, sinking further back into the cushions. “Arthur? What’re you drinking?”

“Whatever you are.”

“Cool.”

Merlin returned a few minutes later toting a pint glass of water, a bottle of white wine and two glasses, one of which he handed to Arthur with a tiny smile. When they all had their drinks, Merlinswitched the big light off and pulled their favourite movie up on Netflix as they settled in to watch.

Only a few minutes in, Arthur leaned closer, his breath warm on the side of Merlin’s neck as he muttered, “Is it bad to admit I’ve never seen this film?”

Shocked, Merlin turned to him with his mouth slightly agape. He refused to flinch at Arthur’s proximity, nudging him with his shoulder conspiratorially.

“Well, you’d best pay close attention then, hadn’t you?”

“Will there be a quiz afterwards?”

“Quite possibly.”

A low laugh bubbled up from Arthur’s chest as he turned his attention back to the television and took a long sip of his wine. Very noticeable indeed was the fact that Arthur did not move from his spot just next to Merlin, the small exhales ruffling the curls at the base of his neck every time Arthur turned his head. The brunette rather found he didn’t mind, although this was quite possibly the wine talking.

Arthur had never really expressed any interest in men _or_ women, and Merlin deemed it entirely possible that he was asexual or aromantic, the incident in the kitchen notwithstanding. It would be a lie, he realised, to admit that the notion did not thoroughly depress him. With that in mind, he took another large gulp of his wine; he drained the glass and was astonished when Arthur’s hand appeared to refill it almost immediately before topping up his own.

Against his better judgement, Merlin leaned into the hard chest at his back. He felt Arthur still a little, before adjusting his position and resting his chin gently on Merlin’s shoulder, the skim of Arthur’s eyelashes against his sensitive neck enough to make him squirm. Merlin felt Arthur chuckle again, before finally turning his full attention to the screen once more.

Across the room, Hunith began to snore softly, regardless of the fact it was barely seven. Tentatively, Merlin reached a hand around to card through Arthur’s hair. It was even more soft than he had expected, the silken strands smooth to the touch.

“How’s your head?” he asked quietly, taking it as a good sign that Arthur seemed to be melting under his touch, nosing just below his ear and apparently only one moment away from purring like a very contented cat.

“Hurts like fuck, if you must know,” was Arthur’s airy reply. The tip of his nose was cold against Merlin’s skin, and he shivered.

“I’d rather you just punched me than hurt yourself, you know.”

“Why on earth would I do that?”

“The thought of you getting hurt doesn’t sit very well with me, is all.”

This gave Arthur pause, and they continued to melt together in the darkness, Merlin’s back sinking further into Arthur’s chest with every passing second as their hearts beat in perfect synchronicity.

As the end of the film approached, the unmistakable sound of sniffling reached Merlin’s ears. His hand stilled the steady rhythm he had maintained while stroking Arthur’s hair, the pleasant buzz of wine drunk keeping his inhibitions at bay.

“Sorry, are you _crying_?” Merlin laughed, turning as best he could without leaving the warmth of Arthur’s side.

“No!” sniped the blonde, burying his face into Merlin’s shoulder to surreptitiously wipe away his tears. Delighted, the brunette jostled his companion back into an upright position, feigning ignorance at the slight red cast of his eyes.

“It is a very beautiful ending,” agreed Merlin, plucking the empty bottle from the floor and waving it gleefully. “I’m going to open another one. Do you want some?”

“Sure.”

To Merlin’s amusement, Arthur followed him through to the kitchen like a lost puppy. Away from the darkness of the living room, it was clear Arthur didn’t hold his liquor very well: he wobbled a little where he stood, giving Merlin an intense look from heavily lidded eyes.

Guilt dropped like a stone in Merlin’s stomach, three separate voices screaming at one another inside his head - one, to stop because this man was his friend and vulnerable, another, to stop because Merlin couldn’t afford to let the story be compromised, and a third, much louder voice, which hollered for him to grasp Arthur’s delectable jaw and get to kissing those lips as quickly as possible.

“Arthur, you’re drunk,” Merlin groaned even as he allowed himself to be crowded back against the table, the other man so close he could smell the wine on his breath.

“I’m not so drunk that I don’t know what I’m doing, _Mer_ lin.”

Well, if hearing his name like that didn’t send all the blood rushing straight to his groin, Merlin didn’t know what would. That damned cut glass accent was going straight in the wank bank, and he was going straight to hell.

“I shouldn’t do this. You’re my friend - you’re in a vulnerable position-”

“-I’m not the one in the vulnerable position right now,” interjected Arthur, ghosting his lips over the pale column of Merlin’s throat, smirking as he swallowed.

“I’m writing a damned _story_ about you, Arthur! There are _rules_ about this kind of stuff!”

His attention finally caught, Arthur pulled away with a downcast expression.

“Merlin, if this is your way of telling me I’m barking up the wrong tree, then please, just come out with it.”

“No, it’s not that, I-”

“I’m not the most experienced in matters of the heart, especially when it comes to men, and if I have misread the situation-”

An exasperated grumble tumbled from Merlin’s lips as he fisted his hand in Arthur’s jumper, pulling him closer. With a long suffering sigh, he slid his hands up to cradle Arthur’s neck in his palms, fingers threaded in the hair that settled at his nape.

“You have _not_ misread the situation. God, Arthur, I like you. Kind of wish I didn’t, if I’m being honest, but I do. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re obligated to me in any way, or that I expect anything from you that you don’t want to give. I paid attention, you know, when you talked about people wanting _repayment_ for kindness they showed you.”

Arthur seemed to crumple at that, leaning his forehead against Merlin’s and closing his eyes. One hand rose to grip Merlin’s wrist, the tendons of his forearm stark against his skin.

“I would never think that of you.”

Before Merlin could respond, Arthur pressed the meekest, most chaste kiss to his lips. So featherlight was the contact he barely felt it but for the spark of heat that skipped up his spine, igniting a blaze in his chest and settling into his bones like the warm crackling of a campfire. Upon parting, Arthur’s smile was sweet and shy, a far cry from the seething, cruel temper he had displayed only a few hours before.

“Are you sure about this?” Merlin asked, touching the tip of his nose to Arthur’s and returning the smile.

“We can take it slowly,” Arthur agreed, moving to press his lips to Merlin’s once more.

Hunith’s screech from the doorway was comical indeed. She pelted across the kitchen with her eyes on the linoleum, re-filled her glass and tripped her way back out again, all the while talking ten to the dozen.

“When will I learn to use my brain? Come on Hunith, get it together. I’m so _sorry,_ boys, you carry on, I’ll get out of your hair. Do be safe, won’t you? Oh God, Hunith, you’re drunk, get to bed and leave them to it.”

Arthur tossed his head back, laughing, while Merlin sank to the table, praying to a God he wasn’t sure existed for the floor to open up and swallow him whole. With a final chuckle, Arthur reached out to ruffle his hair, stumbling a little over his own feet as he made his way out.

“It does not matter how slowly you go, as long as you do not stop. Night, Merlin. Sweet dreams.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Hunith.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is quite a meaty one. Please send Arthur cuddles for this chapter, he needs them.
> 
> Also this is un-beta'd as always, so I will fix mistakes upon re-reading. Please do leave kudos/comments if you enjoyed!

Merlin fiddled with the new faux-leather bracelet around his wrist, smoothing back and forth over the metal clasp just underneath his pulse point. The fact that Arthur had even considered buying them gifts was touching, and to choose with such deftness was a testament to how much he paid attention. Hunith cried when she unwrapped the pretty patterned scarf, immediately wrapping it around her hair in the style she so favoured. The shade of dove grey suited her well.

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” Arthur muttered bashfully, casting a fond glance at the small pile of gifts he’d been given - a nice wristwatch and some good solid boots from Hunith, and a soft, fleece lined zipper hoodie from Merlin in a wonderful steely grey which he had immediately swathed himself in, tugging it nervously around his body as they had opened their much more meagre gifts. Hunith flapped her hands at him, wiping at the tears in her eyes with her sleeve.

“We didn’t expect gifts, Arthur! This was so thoughtful of you.”

Reaching across, Merlin pulled Arthur into an awkward one armed hug, pressing a shy kiss to his cheek and murmuring heartfelt thanks into his ear. With a blush, Arthur pulled away. He hadn’t been able to spend much on their presents, and had all but tackled Hunith to make her accept a small contribution towards the food for the day.

Since they were working to a deadline and had no wish to contract food poisoning, it had been agreed upon that Hunith would do most of the cooking while the boys set the table, carried through to the living room so that they could play festive music on the television as they ate. They completed their task in companionable quiet; occasionally their fingers brushed as they reached for the name napkin, and the way Arthur slid a hand to the small of Merlin’s back as he passed by was entirely unnecessary and yet wholly satisfying. Even the gentlest of grazes made Merlin’s stomach roil, the echo of his want etched into the soft lines of Arthur’s face.

With the final jewel-bright cracker placed, the two young men stood shoulder to shoulder and surveyed their work, pleased. Turning towards Arthur with a quirk of his full lips which passed for a smile, Merlin reached out to smooth the fabric of the hoodie between his thumb and forefinger - he revelled in the velvety texture of the lining and the heat radiating from Arthur’s body.

“Do you like it?”

Arthur’s reply came alongside his fingers loosely encircling Merlin’s wrist, thumb skimming across the tender point of his pulse, which skittered pleasingly upon contact. “Very much so. Thank you.”

“I have another gift for you. In your room.” His breath hitching, Merlin wound his fingers through Arthur’s and made to pull him from the room, but the other man stood firm.

“As tempting as that sounds, I’m not entirely certain I want to be defiled in your teenage bedroom on a Pokemon duvet while your mother roasts a turkey fifteen feet away, thanks.”

Casting his eyes heavenward and silently begging for strength, Merlin huffed out a laugh and shoved Arthur lightly with his shoulder, their fingers still entwined.

“Believe me, I have no plans to defile you today. Not here, anyway.”

Chuckling, Arthur allowed himself to be dragged through to the next room, where a large box lay upon the bed. He quirked a brow at his dark haired companion, perplexed at the unguarded anxiety he found in his expression.

They sat side by side on the mattress, Merlin’s palm beginning to sweat as he considered whether Arthur may find this gift belittling.

“So - before you open it and potentially get mad, hear me out, okay?” The blonde simply tilted his head forwards to indicate he was listening, lips pressed into a hard line as he concentrated. “I know you don’t sleep well, and I know you’re struggling a lot more than you let on; the panic attack yesterday was proof of that. I’ve read a lot about these things and how they’re meant to help a lot with anxiety conditions when used as a kind of grounding aid… And now I’m waffling, so please just open it.”

With not inconsiderable trepidation, Merlin watched as Arthur opened the box hefted the contents out onto his lap with a surprised grunt at the weight.

“It’s… a very heavy blanket? Are you telling me to smother myself and put us all our of our misery?” quipped Arthur, unfolding it and settling it over his lap. The pressure was… not entirely unpleasant. With a pained roll of his eyes, Merlin began to explain.

“It’s a weighted blanket, yes. It’s designed to reduce the symptoms of anxiety by mimicking a therapeutic technique called deep pressure simulation. I memorised the name from the internet and cannot for the life of me remember what it means, but I can look it up if you want me to. I was hoping it would help you sleep a little more soundly.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Arthur shuffled backwards until he was comfortably stretched out on the little single bed and pulled the blanket all the way up to his neck; a small sigh escaped him as he closed his eyes, smiling and serene.

“Like it?” grinned Merlin, looming over him with an expression so self satisfied and bloody besotted he almost wanted to punch himself in the face.

“Love it,” Arthur replied, shucking one arm free and grabbing a fistful of Merlin’s shirt, tugging him down to plant a demure yet lingering kiss to the corner of his lips. “Come, try it,” he added, tossing back a corner and shuffling to his side to allow Merlin to climb under the blanket with him.

They lay nose to nose, waves of equanimity washing over them as they all but liquified under the weight of both the blanket and of their eye contact.

“I dread to think how much this cost,” sighed Arthur, settling a hand over Merlin’s where it lay between them, a gesture which felt as natural as breathing. The other man would have shrugged, if he could have moved.

“It’s not one of the expensive brands,” he admitted. “I actually bought it for myself a while ago and never took it out of the box. I figured you would probably get more use out of it than I would… Now, however, I’m reconsidering. I may have to take it back.”

Arching his back, Merlin melted further into the mattress, so warm and contented he had half a mind to fall asleep.

“Or you could just stay here with me.”

“I like the thought of that.”

The kiss that followed caused the hair on the back of Merlin’s neck to rise, and goosebumps to erupt on Arthur’s skin even despite the warmth. It was impossible to tell who initiated the contact - one moment they were smiling stupidly at one another and the next, their lips were moving together in a slow, tender caress.

He could happily remain in this spot forever, Arthur realised, smiling a little as Merlin sighed contentedly into his mouth before gently sucking his bottom lip for a heartbeat that, had Arthur had his way, should have lasted for the rest of time. The embrace was sensual in a way he’d never experienced before - his entire history as far as enthusiastically consensual physical relations went amounted to a few boarding school fumbles, a couple of pretty and willing barmaids while on army leave and one particularly ill-advised blowjob from a senior officer who had gotten him drunk at a function and dropped readily to his knees when Arthur had waved an imperious hand, demanding he suck him off in the gents.

Kissing Merlin like this - _being_ kissed like this, as though he _mattered_ \- was something entirely new and foreign. As though hearing the cogs turning in Arthur’s mind, Merlin pulled a breath away and tapped the tip of one finger to Arthur’s temple. 

“Hey, where did you go?”

“I was wondering what I did to deserve this. To deserve you.”

“Something truly terrible, probably.”

“Oh, do shut up.”

Arthur ruffled Merlin’s inky curls with poorly disguised affection, nudging their noses together before claiming his mouth once again.

Hunith’s call from the other room broke them apart, their shared sigh mingling between them. To Arthur’s dismay, Merlin almost immediately rolled out from underneath the blanket - admittedly with great difficulty - taking the cosiness and sensation of absolute safety with him. Once on his feet, he neatened himself up and held a hand out to Arthur, dragging him upright and all but whipping him to the kitchen without so much as a by-your-leave.

—

For the first time in his life, Arthur actually enjoyed Christmas Day. By five to three, he was slumped back on the sofa with the button of his jeans undone, a bowl of surplus roast potatoes balanced on his thigh and a fork clutched in his hand. He’d never eaten to excess before, and to the Emrys’ credit they had only really made what they needed - apart from when it came to roasties, which were of course the centre of the meal and therefore the more, the better. Merlin also had a fork, which he used to spear a particularly crispy looking potato before squidging closer to Arthur on the pretence of making room for his mother.

The three of them sat huddled together, ready and waiting for the kings speech. Arthur had been raised as staunchly anti-monarchy, but a chance meeting with the princess as she inspected the troops at at Sandhurst had changed his mind: she had ducked her bodyguards and fled to the canteen in her desperation for a cup of coffee. In her haste, she had spilled her cup all over Arthur’s dress uniform, and seemed to take great joy in telling him off, even as they exchanged pleasantries about the weather and the stiff ceremony of parades - her quick wit, sharp eyes and tongue touched smirk had caught his attention for the few moments they had spoken, and he’d decided he rather liked Princess Morgana Pendragon.

On the screen, ‘God Save the King’ began to play and the image of the entire royal household filled the frame, a rather frail looking King Uther flanked by the beautiful, flaxen-haired queen and the striking (if somewhat terrifying) princess. They clutched his hands in theirs, all three sets of pale eyes staring into the camera lens with the intensity of people peering down the barrel of a gun. With a deep, laboured breath, the king began to speak.

“People of the United Kingdom - merry Christmas. I hope you are all having a very pleasant day full of love, light and happiness. The last few years have been particularly challenging for us all: we held firm throughout a pandemic which stole our loved ones from us, through the civil unrest that came at the hands of misguided patriotism, and the harshest winter on record. We have each faced our own private triumphs and tragedies, and we hold each and every one of your in our hearts. Today, I speak to you not as a king, but as a man, as a husband, as a father. With this in mind, I have a favour to ask of you.”

Here the king paused, turning to his wife. His spine visibly straightened as she gave him a small, encouraging smile from which he seemed to draw an abundance of strength.

“Many of you watching may remember that twenty seven years ago, a terrible tragedy befell the Pendragon family. Our newborn son was taken from us in the dead of night, vanishing without a trace. With the help of Scotland Yard we have searched high and low for the whereabouts of the Prince of Wales, but to no avail. As you can imagine, this has caused us all great heartache from which we have never truly recovered. It will come as no shock to anyone watching this message that I myself am incredibly sick: in fact, my days are numbered. I do not wish to garner sympathy, my only wish is this; if you have any knowledge of my son, of his whereabouts, any information at all - please contact Scotland Yard. Please do not punish my wife and children for any hatred you may harbour for me. Whatever I have done, I have done for love of my country, and ask only that you grant a dying man his wish of finally meeting his son.”

Clinging to the hand of her husband, the queen took over as his grey eyes began to sparkle with tears. “We thank you for your support in all things, and extend the hand of friendship to every citizen of this country. From our home and our family to yours, merry Christmas.”

Chewing thoughtfully on a rapidly cooling potato, Arthur turned to Merlin with a quirked eyebrow.

“These speeches - they’re not always that intense, are they?” he asked, glancing over at Hunith who seemed to have turned to stone where she sat. Merlin shook his head, worrying his bottom lip in a habit he had picked up from Arthur.

“Normally they’re a bit boring, actually. The king looked awful, didn’t he, mum?”

Hunith’s answering nod was distant, her dark brows knitted together as though trying to solve a particularly difficult equation. When no amount of prodding could goad any kind of response from his mother, Merlin simply pressed a kiss to the top of her head and began to gather his things for volunteering. Arthur tried not to shrink back under the searching stare the woman turned upon him, her eyes narrowed.

“Lunch was delicious, Hunith, thank you. You have made my first proper Christmas very special,” he said, reaching out to clasp her hand. The contact seemed to jar her back to consciousness, and after a moment of taking in their joined hands, she squeezed his fingers with a warm grin.

“You are more than welcome, darling boy. Any time. Now, go and do you bit for society. Make Merlin do some actual work, won’t you?”

“I’ll certainly try.”

—

“Before we do this, how much are you willing to tell me?” Merlin asked as he gathered up various bits and bobs belonging to his ancient DSLR camera, filing them neatly into the appropriate spaces of his backpack. Arthur ran a finger across his eyebrow to smooth it, feeling at home even in the little bedsit: the pair had popped past Merlin’s flat to grab his gear before heading to the shelter.

“How about I answer whatever questions you fire my way as best I can, and then you give me full say on what actually goes in the article?” replied Arthur, unable to stop gazing at himself in the mirror as he artfully tousled his hair and adjusted his clothes. “Do I look okay? I didn’t realise you’d be taking photos.”

The focused frown on Merlin’s face dissolved into an expression of amusement.

“If that’s a way to make me say you look very handsome then yes, Arthur, you look very handsome.”

“I don’t think they’ll recognise me.”

“Just show off some of that sparkling personality you favoured - you know, the one a bit like a bear being poked with a stick - I’m sure that’ll jog everyone’s memories.” 

Barking a laugh, Arthur turned and strode across the room in three short bounds, wrapping his arms around the brunette and tackling him to the bed.

“You are _incredibly_ rude, do you know that?” Arthur grinned, prodding him in the ribs.

“Just another part of my charm,” Merlin replied, reaching a hand up to push the golden strands of Arthur’s hair away from his eyes, his own taking on an embarrassingly soppy, glazed look which he hadn’t the presence of mind to hide. Arthur’s smile was soft as he bent to kiss the other man, the gesture saturated with the weight of promises and tentative hopes for the future.

“As lovely as this is,” he breathed, settling his chin on Merlin’s chest and looking up at him through the fringe of his lashes, “I think it’s time we were setting off.”

\--

The large kitchen was a clamour of voices, shouting and laughing and singing against the tinny echo of the Christmas songs playing in the main hall. Arthur and Merlin fought their way through the throng of bodies towards the towering man at the centre of the room: he was the perfect example of masculine fitness with rippling biceps, forearms as thick as tree trunks and a somewhat incongruous apron tied around his waist with a neat bow.

“Percy!” called Arthur, lurching forwards to slap a hand to the man-mountain’s shoulder. Merlin hung back a little, intimidated by the sheer bulk of him.

“Arthur!” Percy’s eyes went wide as he took in the man before him, gaze skimming over the neat clothes, clean shaven face and cropped hair. “You look _great_ , my dude!” His eyes then found Merlin, a bedazzling grin stretching across his handsome face. “And this must be Merlin, yeah? The journo?”

“Guilty,” replied Merlin, wincing slightly as his fingers were crushed in Percy’s vicelike grip.

“Cracking! So I was thinking, am I good to pop you on serving, Arthur? The guys out front would definitely like to see you. Merlin, how are you at cooking?”

“Abysmal - I was hoping I could go on serving, too? Get to chat to some of the folks here today, if they’re willing? I don’t want to use this as some kind of pity piece: we want to shine a light on the realities of homelessness in the capital.”

Agreeing most heartily, Percy hooked his arms around both of them and led them through the kitchen, introducing other volunteers and pointing out things they should know, like the location of fresh plates, who to tell when they were running out of a particular food item, and where the first aid kits were kept for the burns they would inevitably sustain.

The next few hours passed in a haze of activity. The mood at the servery counter varied from patron to patron; many of the homeless people in attendance were vibrant and full of life and humour, several greeting Arthur as an old friend, and more than a few incredibly interested in Merlin’s article, so much so they agreed to speak to him at some point in the coming days. A few seemed struck dumb, beleaguered by trauma and unable to rouse their voices even to respond to festive greetings. In between visitors, Merlin snapped candid photos of Arthur and the other kitchen staff with his camera, as well as a few decidedly un-camera shy clients. One man in particular, Edwin, seemed only too happy to pose with a brussel sprout halfway to his mouth, waxing poetic about how he would have been an excellent model had he not fallen prey to the back alley drug scene.

Edwin and his unsettling intensity notwithstanding, Merlin found himself having fun. He and Arthur settled into an easy back and forth which kept the customers entertained, their banter extending outwards to envelope those waiting and make them feel included in a way they quite possibly hadn’t in quite some time. Percy in particular was thankful for the repartee they enjoyed, and slotted quite easily into the crosstalk which often seemed to be at Merlin’s expense. He found he didn’t mind, even as he dripped ladlefuls of gravy over his shoes and scalded his arm against a particularly hot tray of sliced turkey.

By the time their four hour shift was at an end, night had well and truly fallen. Pulling their coats around themselves, they wandered in the direction of the river, their un-gloved fingers brushing every few steps with neither of them mustering the courage to grasp the hand of the other. They elected to conduct their Arthur’s interview on the steps outside City Hall opposite the Tower of London, the lights of the City glinting against the murky Thames. Sitting close enough for warmth and distant enough to masquerade professionalism, Merlin settled his dictaphone between them and looked at Arthur with a patient smile, pen balanced over the pad in his lap.

“So, Arthur, tell me a little about yourself.”

The man in question laughed darkly, his breath clouding in the sub-zero air. Pressing his broad palms together, he turned his gaze towards the river, watching the glimmering, quivering reflections with a thoughtful air.

“What is there to tell, really? It’s a story everyone has heard ten thousand times before.”

“Tell it anyway.”

“And you promise you will only print what I agree to?”

“You have my word.”

“Okay. So, my first memory is of hiding under the stairs. I know it sounds weird, but that was my escape spot. My panic room, sort of. I’d go there even when I was tiny - maybe three? Four? My dad didn’t like me very much, and he hated it when I cried. He only hit me a couple of times, but I remember always feeling a sense of - would foreboding be a good word to use? - every time he was in the same room. One time in particular, I hid in the cupboard under the stairs and I could hear my parents talking outside the door. He was raging about the fact I had left crumbs on the kitchen floor and mum was saying I was the worst bargain they had ever struck, whatever that meant. Then I heard him walk away and she… she locked the door. I stayed in there for two days. I was only six.”

Horrified, Merlin reached across and wound his fingers through Arthur’s, willing as much comfort as he could through the firm grasp of his hand. One handed, he continued to scribble in shorthand as Arthur continued his story.

“We never really wanted for anything, but I wouldn’t say we were all that well off. I have no idea where they got the money to send me to Harrow. Mum was in some kind of holistic medicine game, and dad would never talk about his work, so maybe he was better paid than I knew. As soon as I turned thirteen I went to board there, and I learned a lot. I wasn’t exactly what you’d call academically gifted but I did well enough, ended up with nine GCSEs. They still weren’t happy. Every holiday I’d go home and be frozen out or brow beaten, then when I showed them my results they couldn’t even raise a smile for their only son. I lost my temper and said some really awful things, and my dad socked me so hard he broke my jaw. I left that night, stayed with the family of a school friend a couple of years above me - Leon, his name was - and then the pair of us signed up for the army.”

Gulping for air, Arthur stopped, turning to Merlin with the look of a man about to be hanged. Wordlessly, the brunette pushed the dictaphone aside and gathered the blonde to his chest, holding him close as he shivered more from horror than from cold.

“We don’t have to continue tonight, if you don’t want to. Do you want to go home?” he asked, stroking the nape of Arthur’s neck as he buried his face into his coat. Even as he drew in shuddering, panicked breaths, he shook his head.

“I need to do this,” he panted, drawing away and wiping traitorous tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. Merlin thumbed along his elegant cheekbone, silently cursing that they’d decided to do this on Christmas Day, of all days.

“Alright then, tell me. Tell me what happened when you joined the army.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the love, folks! I appreciate! We're going to be getting to the crux of the story soon, so it may be a little longer between updates while I make sure I am tying everything together properly. Much love!

“There’s not much to tell about the first few years. I moved around a bit, always with Leon. By the time I was twenty we’d been stationed in Syria. I showed promise and advanced up the ranks quickly, making the rank of lance corporal, which meant I had a group of four to supervise. I loved the responsibility, the camaraderie. I loved feeling like I was making a difference to the world, though I never relished the killing. Taking a human life was something I had to do for the good of others, and I never enjoyed it. Back then I took for granted that I’d have a long and fruitful military career, so I didn’t save. I sent money to friends here and there, bought endless rounds at the pub while I was on leave - and spent a hideous amount of cash on black market rations for the people I was trying to protect but who kept getting killedin the crossfire anyway.”

Arthur had curled in on himself and was thumbing the lapels of his coat in an unmistakable comfort gesture. Normally, his pride would prevent him from showing weakness in such a way, but the floodgates were open and this evacuation of so many pent up feelings was incredibly cathartic. He watched dazedly as Merlin scribbled symbols on the notepad he balanced precariously on his knee - Arthur would have to tease him about his knowledge of shorthand later.

“About two years ago, we were on a routine aid drop off just outside of Aleppo. Daesh soldiers were on us from nowhere and my commanding officer was killed. Without even thinking I took charge and I drew the fire so that the others could get to safety. Leon was barking in my ear the whole time, telling me to get back to the truck; but I knew even a few seconds would let them get away. I took a bullet to the abdomen, which ruptured my spleen. I kept running, and the bastards just kept shooting. Before I knew what was happening I was over Leon’s shoulder and in the truck. It seemed that the terrorists weren’t done with us, though. They bombed the two other trucks carrying the rest of my unit. They all died; every last one of them. The only reason we survived was because Leon is a damned ninja behind the wheel. I was repatriated and it took me a solid four months to heal, by which time I was told I was being granted an honourable discharge and there was some talk of a Victoria Cross but honestly, I didn’t care about that.”

“I’m sorry, a _Victoria Cross_ medal?”

Merlin pulled away a little to look down at Arthur with wide eyes full of undisguised shock. Nodding, the blonde shuffled a little more upright with a nonchalant shrug.

“Yeah, but it was just bandied around. And anyway, I didn’t want it. What I wanted was my friends - hell, my _family_ back. The family I had found in the arse end of the desert who I had tried to save and who had gotten blown to pieces for my trouble. What’s the point of a ribbon with a chunk of metal at the end when such brave people were sent home to their parents in matchboxes decked out in the Union Flag?”

Silence fell for an indeterminate time, Arthur’s eyes screwed shut against the assault of memories that filled his mind with all the subtlety of an atomic bomb.

“The rest is history,” he continued flatly. “I got out of hospital, got promised all kinds of things like mental health support and help finding a flat. I lasted about six weeks of London rent before my cash ran out, some bullshit paperwork got in the way of my military pension and I was on my arse on the street before my scar had even healed. You know what happened from there. You can fill in the rest.”

It took every ounce of Merlin’s self control to hold back the tears which teetered on the brink of falling, blurring his vision and blocking his throat with a lump bigger than his fist. Sensing his distress, Arthur cupped his cheek in one hand, smoothing back and forth over his cheekbone with a gentle, sympathetic smile.

“I’m so sorry. About making you dredge all this up, for crying - for everything,” said Merlin thickly, huffing in frustration as a single tear escaped from its prison and slid down his cheek, pooling at the point where Arthur’s skin met his.

“Merry fucking Christmas,” Arthur laughed, the panic of a short while ago held at bay by the need to comfort Merlin. His companion snorted, his responding chuckle low in his chest.

“Merry fucking Christmas indeed.”

—

By the time they returned to Hunith’s, their hands were raw with cold. The woman herself met them in the hallway with steaming mugs of hot chocolate and kisses to the cheek before she slipped quietly to bed, her eyes heavy with tiredness. Yawning widely, Merlin padded through to the living room and began to yank the spare bedding out from behind the couch. He dearly missed his own bed, and vowed that he would return to his own flat the following day purely for the luxury of his favourite pillow. Arthur lingered in the doorway, sipping at his drink and observing casually as Merlin toed off his shoes and flopped down, utterly exhausted. As he watched, he tried to tamp down on the tightening knot of anxiety in his chest which had been growing since he’d first started talking about his past.

“Thank you for today,” said Merlin, shuffling awkwardly onto his front and dazzling Arthur with a guileless grin. “I know it was hard for you, and I want you to know I really appreciate it. You’ll still have first refusal on the quotes, of course, and - Arthur, hey, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head vigorously as though trying to clear it, the abrupt hitch in his breath and the sudden rigidity of his shoulders telling Merlin everything he needed to know. Barely managing to avoid spilling his drink all over the carpet, Merlin was on his feet and next to Arthur in two strides, gripping him by the shoulder and tilting his chin up to catch his gaze.

“Merlin.”

Arthur’s murmur was broken, his expression fraught as he desperately tried to breathe deeply through his nose even through his panic.

Merlin trailed his hands down the length of Arthur’s arms to clasp his hands, walking backwards into the bedroom without breaking the eye contact. Under his breath, Arthur had already begun his little grounding lists, pulling his senses into check as best he could even as sweat began to bead upon his brow. He pressed his forehead to Merlin’s where they stood in the dim light of the bedside lamp, raising their fastened hands to press Merlin’s palm against his heart.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur hissed through clenched teeth, following blindly when Merlin guided him wordlessly to lie on the bed.

“You never, ever have to apologise to me,” replied Merlin, stretching out beside him and pulling the weighted blanket over them as he had done earlier in the day. From his position on his back, Arthur melted into Merlin’s touch where he pressed along his side, chin resting on his shoulder and fingers still wound tightly together.

“Here I go again, behaving like an absolute tit,” Arthur huffed out, turning his head slightlyto bury his nose in Merlin’s hair and closing his eyes. The brunette tutted loudly, digging a reproachful knee into the muscle of Arthur’s thigh.

“You’re not behaving like a tit but you’re certainly talking like one.” He paused, satisfied that the frenzied thrum of the heart rate under his hand was slowing to a more acceptable pace. “Would you like me to stay in here tonight? I’ll sleep on the floor, but I’ll be nearby if you need me.”

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

Having been forever admonished for showing weakness and emotion, Arthur did not have the words to request what he needed. The yearning to be held all but consumed him, the dull ache in the pit of his stomach a stark reminder of the things he had never had. Merlin’s answering smile was soft, so tender that Arthur found he could not look straight at it without feeling a twist of shame in his gut which he roughly forced down. In his heart, Arthur knew this was a place in which he need not feel ashamed for admitting his weaknesses, and that the man who pressed a gentle kiss to his neck would show no judgement, no matter what was asked of him.

A short while later, the pair had changed into their pyjamas and were cocooned under the duvet and blanket, Merlin curled around Arthur in the darkness like a shield. Their embrace was innocent, Merlin’s palm still pressed flat over Arthur’s sternum and his nose buried into the nape of his neck.

“I’ve never been the little spoon before,” Arthur admitted into the night, reaching a hand around to draw lazy circles on Merlin’s thigh with the tip of his index finger. Merlin snickered in response.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been the big spoon. It really has been a day of firsts, hasn’t it?”

They lay without speaking for several minutes, still awake but hovering on the edge of sleep. Arthur drew in a deep breath, sinking back a little so that he all but dissolved against Merlin’s chest, the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding against his spine.

“I’d like to go and see my parents on New Years Eve, I think. Draw a line under it all and start afresh. What do you think?”

Merlin’s stomach flipped as Arthur’s voice reverberated deep in his chest, sending tremors through his palm that sparked a heat in his belly. Desperately reminding his libido that this was most emphatically not the time, he considered Arthur’s words carefully.

“I think it’s a great idea. If you want company, go in the afternoon and I’ll come with you. Then you can join my friends and I at the pub for drinks? It’s tradition.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good. It’s a date.”

“Is it?”

“Well, I mean, if you don’t want-”

“Shut up and kiss me and then go to sleep.”

Arthur was laughing as he turned his head, grunting a little in surprise as Merlin leaned over and then all but collapsed on him to capture his lips in a lazy snog. Merlin kissed the breath out of him before finishing off with an entirely unfair flourish of his tongue across Arthur’s lower lip. Bereft, the blonde chased after his mouth even as Merlin settled back down and brushed a peck to the topmost ridge of Arthur’s spine, much less visible now that it had been only a few weeks ago.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Merlin,” groaned the blonde, neatly slotting his fingers though Merlin’s where they reposed over his heart.

“I bloody well hope not. I’m getting quite fond of having you around.”

—

The following few days passed quickly. As promised, Merlin met up with several of the volunteers he’d encountered at the shelter, pleased and proud that Percy had taken it upon himself to act as mediator, giving them space to talk and as much tea and coffee as they could handle. Not only did he learn a little about Edwin; Merlin was also inducted into the life of Mordred, a young lad with anger management issues who had been kicked out of his foster home, Aredian, an older man with a steely gaze which made Merlin feel particularly discomfited and Elena, an honestly charming girl who just happened to prefer the great outdoors and as such had absolutely zero desire to live in a house ever again. When he was not at the shelter, Merlin divided his time between the kitchen table at his flat and the kitchen table at his mother’s, filing the notices for the paper and working frantically on his article, the words spilling forth in a torrent.

Hunith had given Arthur a much heavier workload now that the B&B was open again, having him running errands right left and centre when he was not charming the guests at the front desk. He was grateful of the distraction, really. The expectation of visiting his parents itched at him like a noose around his neck, tightening with every day that passed. Merlin, bless him, had a habit of clapping him on the shoulder with an encouraging grin each single time he passed by, every so often peppering the interaction with an expression of comfort which did little to calm the niggling behind his smile.

Whenever they had a spare moment, they spent it together. The pair passed the time with an abundance of shy flirting, lingering kisses and linked pinky fingers layered over with barbed insults and disparaging personal comments, along with the occasional hurled object. Despite their mutual assurances of subtlety, Hunith was more than aware of their budding relationship, and found as many reasons as possible to stay out of the way. She liked Arthur immensely, and was endlessly glad for the changes he had brought to their lives. However, something about him had begun to worry her, ever since the royal broadcast on Christmas Day. Unable to put her finger on it, she simply watched him from afar and tried to stop her imagination getting the better of her.

The night before Arthur was due to visit his parents, a quick Google search had confirmed they still lived in the same place, and Arthur had made the executive decision to not call ahead; he wanted to take them by surprise, perhaps all the better for shocking an apology from them. Sensing the waves of anxiety which Arthur would never articulate, Merlin had been only too glad to offer his company for the evening, an offer which the other man had gladly and hastily accepted.

Merlin curled against Arthur on the small bed, head pillowed on a chest which seemed less and less emaciated by the day. Arthur’s hand slipped slightly underneath the hem of his t-shirt, the tip of his middle finger running back and forth over the soft skin below. Even this was adventurous in comparison to any touches they had shared before, and Merlin could not suppress the soft exhale of desire which escaped him at that moment. Arthur laughed softly, continuing his ministrations with an impish grin.

Cautiously, Merlin settled his palm against the flat plain of Arthur’s stomach. The fabric of his t-shirt had become rucked up over the course of the evening, and to his surprise Merlin found warm skin where he had expected soft cotton. Arthur did not shift away, the stutter of his breath the only indication he was affected by tender way Merlin stroked the faint line of fair hair that trailed below his belly button, almost unbearably intimate.

“I want you so badly,” Merlin muttered, half to himself. With a sigh, he tilted his head to press a kiss to the underside of Arthur’s jaw and was rewarded with a low moan in response. Emboldened by the reaction, Merlin continued to focus his attentions on this one spot, nipping and sucking at the golden skin until Arthur tugged him up to meet his mouth in a searing kiss. As their embrace grew deeper, Arthur wriggled his hand just below the waistband of Merlin’s joggers, broad palm settling over the angular jut of hipbone in a proprietary manner.

“You have no idea how much I wish we could do this right now,” Arthur growled as he pulled away, gazing up at Merlin with his pupils blown wide and his blood a scorching heat in his veins. Merlin smiled hazily back, shifting the weight of his upper body over Arthur’s and capturing his mouth again in a much more relaxed kiss.

“Soon?”

“Very soon. Just…not here.”

“Would you like to stay at mine tomorrow, after the pub?”

Laughing, Arthur’s eyes widened just as Merlin’s crinkled at the corners, his pale fingers affectionally carding through the blonde hair beneath them.

“ _Mer_ lin, you idiot, are you propositioning me?”

“What? Innocent little me, trying to steal your virtue?”

“Well? Are you?”

Arthur cocked an eyebrow and traced the shell of Merlin’s ear as he studied him, revelling joyously in the flush which settled delightfully upon his pale cheeks.

“So what if I am?” challenged Merlin, a flash of something dark and beguiling beginning to sparkle in his eyes. “Call it a gift for a job well done for stepping out of your comfort zone tomorrow.”

“I like this idea,” Arthur mused, his fingertips dancing along the ridges of Merlin’s spine. “Closure, pub _and_ sex, all in one day? New year, new life. Count me in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sexytimes approaching*


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all amazing and I love you. <3 This chapter was really hard to write and I'm not 100% happy with it but I don't think I ever will be, no matter how much I edit.

The house was decidedly more ordinary than Arthur remembered it. It was a semi-detached red brick affair with a bay window on the ground floor and a paved driveway flanked by rhododendron bushes, alarmingly indistinct from any other building on the street. An old car was parked outside, the rear window blocked by the piles of boxes which occupied the back seat. The front door of the house was wide open; it formed a gaping maw which beckoned Arthur forward against his will, like a siren calling him towards the gateway to hell.

Merlin walked barely a pace behind him, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly to Arthur’s palm in a subtle gesture of reassurance, of which Arthur was profoundly grateful. Even as they started up the path, a shrill voice sounded from inside and soon took the shape of his mother, barrelling down the hallway holding a plastic crate and looking particularly harried.

“Thomas!” the woman screeched, her face not yet turned towards the two figures in her front garden. “Hurry up and get the last of the stuff down, we need to be out of here by six!”

She turned her head and stopped dead, her voice dying in her throat and a look of conflicting shock and horror contorting her countenance.

Helen Owens was not what Merlin had expected. She had a pleasant face, soft featured with a smattering of freckles and a sizeable gap between her front teeth. To an outsider, she looked perfectly approachable, perhaps even kind, but there was a flash of fire in her eyes which made the hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck rise in warning. In front, Arthur stopped dead, his heart beginning to thrum in his chest. The urge to bolt was almost overwhelming, but he was a solider - a warrior. He would not allow one woman to make him turn tail.

“Hello, Helen,” said Arthur icily, a shiver trickling down his spine which had nothing to do with the cold.

“Arthur?” she breathed, emerging from the doorway. Her rage had melted into pure disbelief. “What are you doing here? Who’s your friend?”

“Aren’t you going to invite us in?”

The steel in Arthur’s voice brooked no arguments, and the woman wordlessly moved aside to grant them entry.

The inside of the house was all but bare - it seemed as though they were getting ready to ship out. Arthur made his through into what was obviously the sitting room and plopped down onto the couch without invitation, nodding mutely for Merlin to do the same. In the hallway, Helen called to her husband before they both entered the room, hackles raised and glaring at the man who had once been their son.

“What do you want?”

Thomas’s voice was cold, his tone a warning. Merlin flicked his eyes towards Arthur; his jaw was set and his lips pressed into a hard line, but he did not visibly tremble which was better than they had hoped for.

“Can’t a son visit his parents before the beginning of a new year?”

“Stop with the theatrics, boy. You walked out of here years ago. I’ll ask you again, what do you want?”

“I want to know _why_.”

A ringing silence followed Arthur’s words. A furrow appeared in between Thomas’s brows, and Helen began to shift nervously from foot to foot, her fingers clenching and flexing as though fighting the urge to wrap around the nearest available neck. Something began to twitch in Arthur’s temple, but still he did not waver, holding their stares in a way that clearly unsettled them. Heaving a heavy, put upon sigh, Thomas threw himself into the armchair opposite, motioning to Helen to settle on the arm like some kind of trophy wife. She did so, her eyes darting this way and that as though searching for an escape route. Arthur leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his thighs and weaving his fingers together, his gaze rapt and intent.

“Do you know what you did to me? Do you even _care_?”

“We sent you to a good school. We fed you, we clothed you-”

“You locked me in a cupboard for two days! More than once! You screamed at me, you froze me out, you spat at me. You broke my _jaw_. You did everything in your power to make sure I felt worthless in every respect.”

Tentatively, Merlin reached out a hand and settled it on Arthur’s forearm to calm him. One warning glance was enough to make the blonde take a shuddering breath through his nose, barely resisting the urge to clasp the hand in his own.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Arthur, you were a kid. It was a long time ago.”

It was plain as day; Thomas was bored. He ran a leisurely hand through the mop of mousy curls atop his head and yawned widely, entirely unperturbed by the hurt he had inflicted. Arthur’s stony expression crumpled, the pain in his eyes evident.

“I want you to say _sorry_ , dad. What you did to me - what happened to me after I left home - what did I do to cause it?”

“You did nothing,” interjected Merlin, too incensed to care. His heart ached to see Arthur so broken once again. “You did absolutely fucking nothing. It’s all down to this prick.”

“Excuse me? Just who are you exactly? Coming into my home and casting aspersions and calling me names?”

“I’m Merlin. Arthur’s my - my friend.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow with a sneer, locking his eyes onto the protective curl of Merlin’s bony fingers around Arthur’s wrist, and he did not miss the way they were pressed together where they sat, shoulder to hip to knee.

His lip curling, Thomas spoke again. “Your friend? Right. I should have known. There was always something _funny_ about you, wasn’t there? Seems I should have hit you harder and a bit more often, eh Artie?”

Arthur was on his feet before Merlin could stop him, across the room in three strides. He gathered Thomas up by the front of his shirt, ignoring Helen’s screams, and smashed him into the wall.

“I did everything to please you!” Arthur thundered. His cheeks had grown scarlet, flecks of spittle flying from his mouth and landing on Thomas’s still serene face. “All I ever wanted was for my parents to love me.”

“You stupid, _stupid_ boy! Don’t you get it yet? Don’t you understand?” The older man was laughing even as a sheen of sweat began to collect upon his skin.

“What is there to understand? You always hated me! For nothing!”

To everyone’s surprise it was Helen who spoke next, her voice small. “We didn’t always hate you.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Thomas, stop it. We didn’t, and you know it. You were a gift, Arthur.”

The smile on her face seemed genuine, and a faraway look flitted behind her eyes for a moment before her expression became caged. Arthur looked nonplussed, letting Thomas fall to the floor where he lay for a moment, massaging his throat and gasping for air.

Helen gestured for Arthur to return to his seat. He did so stiffly, remaining tense even as Merlin wound their fingers together: the muscles of his neck were drawn tight, like steel columns.

“We couldn’t have children, Thomas and I,” began Helen. “So when we were given the chance to adopt you, we jumped at it. This beautiful baby boy all but fell into our laps, all blonde curls and blue eyes - a regular little cherub. We cherished you.”

From his slump against the wall, Thomas snorted. Helen kicked him viciously with narrowed eyes, a gesture which Merlin appreciated immensely. Arthur, on the other hand, had taken on an entirely vacant expression with his eyes glazed and his jaw slack. He interrupted Helen’s next words with an utterance halfway between a question and a statement.

“You’re not my parents?”

Merlin could all but see the litany of emotions tumbling around inside that gorgeous head.

“No, Arthur. We’re not. We tried to be. But - things changed. It got too hard, too complicated.”

“What things?”

“I can’t-”

“Tell me, please. God, please tell me.”

Helen shook her head stiffly, her throat tightening against the words that seemed to want to tumble forth. Her husband remained blessedly silent also, looking pensive and not a little ashamed.

“Things changed. That’s all I can say.”

“Even so, why did you never step in and stop him? Why did you let him treat me that way? You were never as downright cruel, but you could have _helped._ ”

“I have no answer to that.”

For a moment she seemed to want to reach out towards Arthur, her hand twitching in his direction as tears began to glisten in his striking eyes. He gripped Merlin’s hand so tightly the other man was sure his fingers were close to snapping, but he said nothing.

A few moments passed in silence before Thomas rose shakily to his feet, turning a disgusted look at Arthur before he left the room without a backward glance.

“We’re moving,” Helen said suddenly, her tone light and false as though the last few minutes had not happened. “We’re going abroad. There’s a few things of yours I’d - I’d like to send on, if you want. Your baby blanket, your teddy, some letters…”

“I can take it with me now.”

“It’s in amongst all the boxes, I don’t know where it is. If you leave me an address, I’ll make sure we pop by before we leave London.”

Wordlessly, Merlin rummaged in his pocket for his wallet and drew out a business card for the B&B, handing it to the woman who was not Arthur’s mother without looking at her.

“Leave it there. Care of Hunith.”

“Got it. Thank you. Take care of yourself, Arthur.”

Arthur felt as though he was wading through tar as he made his way to the front door, mind reeling with the reality of what had just happened. All of the time he had spent feeling disconnected and out of place had not been imagined - this was not his family. While the thought was like a weight being lifted from his shoulders, another swept in almost immediately to replace it: who was he, if not Arthur Owens?

Despite this new tumult of questions presenting themselves one by one, Arthur felt himself brightening with every step he took away from that old house. Merlin strode in step with him, hovering within reach should he be needed for support. As they advanced down the road, the blonde took a deep lungful of air as through breathing for the first time, casting his eyes skywards.

“You okay?” Merlin queried tentatively, tugging a little on the sleeve of Arthur’s coat to slow him down. The look Arthur gave him was a perfect blend of exasperated and fond, as though Merlin was missing out on a very important and very obvious point.

“Yes, _Mer_ lin, I’m fine. I’m great. I’m fantastic!”

“You mean you’re _sarc_ astic?”

“No, I don’t. You have no idea how freeing this is! No matter what else happens, I don’t belong to them, and whatever happened to make them treat me the way they did wasn’t my fault.”

“I could have told you that.”

Arthur scoffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop himself cuddling Merlin in the street. “How could I forget, you are an oracle! Well, oh wise one, you didn’t know me as a child.”

“I can fully believe you were just as arrogant and supercilious then as you are now, though probably exponentially more adorable”

“Is that possible?”

“See? Arrogant.”

Eyes alight with mirth, the two men caught gazes and held them, suspended in a moment of playfulness that soon melted into softness. The sparkle in Arthur’s eyes intensified, and he studied Merlin so intently that a rosy blush rose to colour his cheeks.

“What have you got to look so happy about?” asked Merlin, the corners of his mouth twitching in a shy smile. Even from a respectable distance, Arthur’s answering grin was blinding.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Among other things, yes. You.”

Merlin was certain he’d never had anyone look at him like that before. Not Will, not Freya, no one. The unblushing affection with which Arthur regarded him caused Merlin’s stomach to swoop suddenly that he almost overbalanced, catching himself just in time by wrapping an arm around a nearby lamppost. As the blonde turned to walk away, Merlin watched his retreating back with a surge of warmth that made his head swim. Paling, he passed a trembling hand over his mouth, a veritable swarm of butterflies taking up residence in the pit of his belly. The realisation of the nature of his feelings hit him with all the subtlety of an oncoming train: he had fallen in love with Arthur.

—

The pub was absolutely mobbed. Bodies packed the cramped space, the smell of alcohol and sweat and perfume mingling into a heady stench which assaulted them as they entered. Immediately Merlin spotted his group and made a beeline for them, clutching Arthur’s hand under the pretence of not losing him in the crowd.

For his part, Arthur was equally excited and nervous for the evening. The challenges he was sure to face sooner rather than later lingered just on the edges of his mind, too vague to trouble him just yet. He was sure in the grim light of day, while nursing a hangover and the aching muscles courtesy of all the sex he was planning on having, the events of the preceding few hours would begin to settle upon him more heavily. Now, however, he focused on the butterflies which erupted in his stomach as Merlin wound their fingers together for a brief moment before releasing him.

Arthur was relieved to find he already knew all but one of the people sat at the table: there was Gwen, smiling prettily in welcome even as she cast a sidelong look at Lance which was loaded with longing. Lance himself stood to shake hands, enquiring after Arthur’s health with that grounding calmness Arthur had immediately taken to. Gwaine pulled both Arthur and Merlin into the biggest hug he could, already three sheets to the wind and babbling nonsense. Much to his surprise, Percy was also present, having been invited by Merlin at the last minute. The only unknown person was soon revealed to be Gwen’s twin brother, Elyan, a quietly spoken guy with a wicked, tongue touched grin.

The new arrivals took their seats, squashing into the booth with no complaints as the rest of the group continued their previous conversations. Merlin having texted ahead, someone had already provided them with pints, which they each took a grateful draught of. After a breath, Arthur downed half the beer in one, smirking internally at the way Merlin’s gaze became fixed on the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

“Making up for lost time, mate?” Percy chuckled, raising his glass in a toast before draining it.

“Too right, Perce. I am fully intending to get absolutely fucked tonight.”

Across the way, Gwaine snorted loudly into his fresh pint, splashing the froth all over the table and his own face.

“Are you now?” Merlin asked lightly, struggling to suppress the coquettish smirk which tugged at the corners of his full lips. Arthur simply turned to him with a quirk of his brow, hoping the way he traced his foot up Merlin’s ankle would provide answer enough. Apparently it did, as the brunette turned away to talk to Gwen, his cheeks flaming.

The evening passed in a haze of laughter. As the alcohol flowed, Merlin could not drag his eyes away from the easy way in which Arthur charmed everyone around him. The man before him now was the complete opposite of the one he’d met only a few short weeks ago; the shadows behind his eyes were lessened by the way he tossed his head back in mirth, the stiffness of his bearing relaxing as he allowed Merlin to trace featherlight circles on his palm underneath the table with the tip of one finger. The more drunk he became, the more he leaned into the solid body beside him.

“Are you having fun?” he purred into Arthur’s ear, too buzzed and boneless to care that he was being less than discreet. They had pointedly not discussed the moment from earlier in the day, and Merlin refused to be the one to ask the dreaded ‘so, what _are_ we?’ question. Somewhere in the back of his mind Merlin was sure he shouldn’t push Arthur’s limits while out in public like this, but the heat of the blonde’s gaze when it turned upon him quelled his fears immediately.

“I am,” came the simple reply. Neither man pulled back as the tips of their noses brushed together. “I’m also keeping an eye on the time. It’s only a couple of minutes until midnight,” Arthur continued, his breath mingling with Merlin’s in the tiny space between their lips.

“Are you in the market for a midnight kiss?” Merlin’s speech was slurred and he realised belatedly that his voice was carrying. His mates, however, were absolute tip-top legends and were resolutely pretending not to notice what was going on right in front of them.

“Depends who it’s from, I suppose,” replied Arthur, scrunching up his face for a moment in contemplation of all the dreadful possibilities. His expression softened as Merlin pressed their lips together in a feather light peck - it lasted only a moment, but every pair of eyes at the table flickered towards them. Apparently unable to contain himself, Gwaine erupted into peals of delighted laughter, crowing unintelligibly and dodging the poorly aimed coaster which Merlin hurled at his head. Ever the arbitrator, Lance caught the Irishman in a headlock and scrubbed at the top of his head until he stilled, holding his hands up in a display of surrender.

Their scuffle was interrupted by the clanging of the bell behind the bar, the pub erupting into the ten second countdown. Over the clamour, the distinctive chime of Big Ben could be heard nearby as the clock struck twelve.

“Happy new year, Merlin,” grinned Arthur as he shirked all of his usual respectful discretion and pulled the brunette into an intense, impassioned embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit is going to go DOWN in the next chapter... and by shit I mean Merlin. Possibly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is basically 4,500 words of porn. I would say I'm sorry, but I'm really not. They've waited a... long time? We all know I clearly have a thing for bottom!Arthur, so that's this chapter. Merlin offers tea, Arthur catches The Feels™ and they bicker over bottoming. I also really need to find more words for male genitalia because honestly, I don’t think I ever refer to it in real life, even when intimately acquainted with one. Smut thesaurus, anyone? 
> 
> It's 3:30am. Sorry for any mistakes, blame the smut fairies.

It was quite pathetic, Merlin pondered, how quickly he had fallen in love with Arthur. Although it seemed like they had known each other a lifetime, the actuality was they’d met barely a month ago. They had developed a bond so soul deep and intoxicating that Merlin prayed he’d never have to give it up; for him, this was it. The knowledge terrified him.

This feeling of belonging in his bones, the tingling fire which set his nerves alight each time their skin brushed… and the absolutely overwhelming desire to ravish Arthur where they stood, his back pressed against the cold brick wall and his front pressed against the other man’s broad, solid form. His tongue slid sinuously against Arthur’s of its own accord, one hand tangled in his fair hair and the other tucked comfortably underneath the back of his shirt: the ghosting of fingertips against the curve of Arthur’s spine induced a shiver in him; one so intense the blonde had to break away for a moment, giggling self-consciously. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, slotting one thigh between both of Merlin’s to bring them impossibly closer. 

“Never apologise.”

Merlin swallowed Arthur’s next words as he brought their mouths together again, smiling gently at the small, almost unwilling moan wrested from the back of Arthur’s throat.

A short distance away, their friends huddled like penguins for warmth as they watched the firework display over the Thames. Gwen stood arm in arm with her brother, leaning a fond head on his bicep. She could feel the heat of Lance’s body mere inches away from her back, and itched to pull him closer, but of course she would not. Percy and Gwaine were locked in a fierce argument over whether or not to interrupt their smooching friends before they ended up getting arrested for public indecency.

“Oi! You two! Stop sucking face for a minute - you’re missing the fireworks!” Elyan yelled, making the decision for them.

“I think they’re seeing plenty fireworks, mate,” Lance chuckled. Clumsily, Merlin flipped them the bird before tucking the same hand neatly into the back pocket of Arthur’s trousers.

A moment or two passed, and Arthur pulled away once more. The press of his hips against Merlin’s made his investment in the situation perfectly evident, as did the catch of his breath when the other man shifted awkwardly. The graze of their arousals was like a shot of ice in his veins, even through several layers of fabric.

“Say your goodbyes, Merlin. Take me home.”

The slate blue of Arthur’s eyes had taken on a stormy quality in the dim light, his pupils blown so wide with lust that barely any colour was visible at all.

“I’m going to need a second,” Merlin breathed, his smile turning apologetic. “I don’t think I can walk home in this state.”

Laughing, Arthur settled their foreheads together and tapped a thoughtful rhythm on Merlin’s shoulders as he studied him.

“Think of something unpleasant.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Dead puppies?”

“Oh, thanks! Now I feel better!”

The blonde sniggered and drew away, adjusting his coat over the diminishing yet still appallingly evident bulge in his trousers, and Merlin followed suit, brushing himself off and attempting to look a lot less wrecked in every way than he felt.

—

Living so centrally really had its perks, Merlin realised as they stumbled into his flat barely twenty minutes later. The tips of their noses were pink from the cold, and their cheeks flushed in a heady mixture of drunkenness and arousal. With an intoxicated grin, Arthur turned almost immediately and pressed him against the closed door with a lingering kiss.

“I know this is when I’m supposed to kiss you senseless against this very well made door,” Arthur began, tracing a fingertip lazily back and forth along the curve of Merlin’s jaw, “but I _really_ want to brush my teeth first. My mouth already tastes like something died in there _.”_

Merlin laughed, throwing his head back a little too enthusiastically and bumping it painfully on the wood. As he massaged the back of his skull, he nodded.

“That definitely sounds like a plan - I’ll pop the heating on and then brush mine too. Would you like-”

“Please, God, do not offer me tea. I want you to fuck me, not fuss over me.”

Another laugh burst forth from the brunette, startled this time.

“You certainly have a way with words, you arse.”

“That I do.”

Arthur winked as he closed the bathroom door, leaving them each alone with their thoughts.

Despite his bravado, Arthur was certain he’d never been more nervous. The alcohol had loosened his limbs and lessened his anxiety somewhat, but the reality of the situation still hung on him like a dead weight. Arthur had never been the best at dealing with his emotions - Thomas Owens had seen to that, but instead of toughening him up, he’d simply taught the boy to bottle up his feelings until he all but exploded in anger, frustration, panic or, far less often as an adult, tears. He was almost certain he could cry now, for how much he ached for the idiot in the next room.

As he brushed his teeth, Arthur fought back the rising nausea which was entirely unrelated to the several pints he’d consumed and instead had everything to do with how much he _wanted._ He wanted Merlin so desperately, so completely, in a way he’d never experienced before. Was all love this consuming? Once again Arthur was struck dumb by how little experience he actually had when it came to love and sex and all that came along with it.

The thought made him pause. Had he really just thought of the word ‘love’ in connection with Merlin twice in the space of ten seconds? The jolt of yearning in the pit of his stomach assured him that yes, he bloody well had.

“Fuck,” Arthur muttered, splashing his face with cold water and clinging to the edges of the sink in an effort to remain upright. A soft knock at the door disturbed his reverie. “Come in!”

Merlin’s face, bright with cheerfulness, appeared around the door. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, slipping inside and nudging Arthur out of the way with his hip to brush his own teeth.

In the moments it took Arthur to respond, Merlin’s face turned ashen, the corners of his mouth turning downwards into a heartbroken tilt.

“You’ve changed your mind.”

It was a statement, not a question, and the brunette did not look at him as he rinsed his mouth out and turned off the tap. Horrified, Arthur shook his head as vehemently as he could.

“No! No, of course I haven’t. I want you. A little bit too much, I think.”

“Then what is it?”

Merlin’s expression softened as he moved into Arthur’s space, sliding a hand around to settle at the nape of his neck. Looking anywhere but at the understanding shining in Merlin’s pale, guileless eyes, Arthur searched for the words. As always, he came up empty.

“I’m not nervous,” he stated flatly, the vice tight grip he maintained on the sink evidence to the contrary. “I may lack experience in this particular field, but I am _not_ nervous.”

“Ah,” Merlin smiled, nodding in the manner of a parent humouring a fibbing toddler. “Of course you’re not. And even if you were, there’s no need. It’s just you and me - I’m not exactly Casanova myself.” The dark haired man took the opportunity to grasp Arthur by his free hand and lead him from the bathroom.

“Really, if anyone is nervous, it’s me,” Merlin continued, moving a breath closer and nosing at the spot below Arthur’s left ear. “I’m the one who has to impress _you_. God, Arthur, have you seen yourself? Not to make your head any bigger than it already is, but you’re so beautiful.” Here he paused, pressing a fleeting kiss to Arthur’s lips, drinking him in like the sweetest nectar. The blonde whimpered, chasing, already burning and eager for more. “What am I, in comparison to you? A pale, skinny nerd with ridiculous ears and a habit of running my mouth off. What kind of miracle happened for this to be possible?”

“I like your ears,” murmured Arthur idly, tracing the shell of one as Merlin slipped his hands to his shirt, unthreading the first button as though it was the most monumental task he would ever perform. The blonde gazed down in fascination as nimble fingers continued to undress him with painstaking attentiveness, before the cloth was pushed from his shoulders, his trousers were kicked aside and Merlin shoved him gently backwards until he was perched obediently on the edge of the bed clad only in his underwear.

Arthur’s gaze was hungry as Merlin peeled away his own layers of clothing, each piece of pale skin like a breath of fresh air, and he drank it in like a man drowning. Merlin was so fair skinned he was almost transparent, with a smattering of dark hair across his chest and meandering underneath his belly button towards the waistband of his boxers. He was slim, yes, but skinny was the wrong way to describe it: Merlin was lithe and firm, all long, taut muscle and flat planes simply made to mould to the shape of Arthur’s hands. He stood before Arthur unashamedly, apparently entirely at ease with his own state of undress.

With a smirk which spoke of things to come, Merlin slunk like a panther into Arthur’s lap, kneeling astride him on the mattress and drawing the blonde up into a filthy kiss. Any doubts which Arthur may have harboured abandoned him like rats from a sinking ship the moment Merlin flicked his tongue across his lower lip, eagerly swallowing the guttural groan the action elicited.

As Merlin wound his fingers through the downy hair at the back of Arthur’s head, Arthur himself let his hands wander freely. Merlin’s nipples were pink against the milky complexion of his skin and he sought one now, grazing it tentatively with his palm before pinching it between a thumb and forefinger in response to Merlin’s pleased hiss.

“You’re not nervous at all, you liar,” Arthur sighed, breath catching in his throat as Merlin gave a single, experimental circle of his hips.

“Damn, you caught me out,” grinned Merlin against his mouth. His back arched a little as Arthur moved his attention to the other nipple, humming in triumph.

Wordlessly, Merlin stood and motioned for Arthur to slide up the bed until he was fully lying down, head raised comfortably on the pillows as Merlin moved over him again. Sitting back on his heels, Merlin gawked at the man below him, a study in gold. Bathed in the soft light of the bedside lamp, Arthur’s hair appeared the colour of fresh honey, the peaks and valleys of his torso enveloped by skin which somehow managed to appear sun kissed, even in the dead of winter. To Merlin, Arthur seemed like a drop of sunlight in human form, laid almost bare before him, all the better to be worshipped.

Bravado momentarily stolen by the flare of love in his chest, Merlin traced the pale, puckered scar on Arthur’s abdomen. The other man stared fixedly at the ceiling, embarrassed.

“They did the best they could with it,” he mumbled, shifting in discomfort. “Sorry if it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird. It’s a part of you - it’s a reminder of your courage, and of your loyalty, and your good heart,” Merlin assured him. With a sigh he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth, stroking the scar with the tips of his fingers and willing the blonde to understand just how much he meant to him. Tilting his head, Arthur caught Merlin’s lips and deepened the embrace, desperately attempting to convey the exact same sentiment. Slowly, Merlin turned his ministrations to the soft skin at the juncture where Arthur’s jaw met his neck, laving the point with his tongue and nipping just hard enough to leave a mark.

“I have not been able to stop thinking about your neck since you got rid of that damned beard.”

Merlin’s words were muffled as he continued on to mouth at the underside of Arthur’s jaw. When he was met with only a breathy sigh in response, he continued down the length of that elegant neck, pausing to press a peck to the swell of that distracting Adam’s apple.

Beneath him, Arthur felt beyond words. The blonde’s thoughts and anxieties had finally ebbed into an agreeable buzz of balmy pleasure, everything around him ceasing to exist except for Merlin’s hands and lips and face and voice and weight which had shifted to rest between his parted legs. (When had that happened?) As he relaxed bonelessly into the mattress, a shiver rent his spine as Merlin began to press wet, open-mouthed kisses down his sternum, a thumb flicking lazily at the hardening nub of his right nipple before he spent a moment worshipping Arthur’s scar with his mouth.

Soon, the brunette reached his destination and hooked his fingers under the waist of Arthur’s underwear. Merlin looked up at him questioningly, blue eyes wide with hope and ablaze with something Arthur didn’t quite have the courage to put a name to. Before he spoke, Merlin mouthed lightly at Arthur’s straining erection through the thin barrier of fabric.

“Can I?”

The query was quiet, Merlin’s breath ghosting across the fine trail of hair that led to Arthur’s groin.

“Anything,” was all Arthur could manage, carding a hand through Merlin’s dark curls and canting his hips upwards to allow the other man to slip his boxer briefs down just enough for the head of his cock to meet the air. After a little bit of shuffling around, Arthur now lay completely naked, entirely at Merlin’s mercy - and not even slightly sorry about it.

The first touch of Merlin’s hand immediately set Arthur aflame; long, slender fingers and broad palm wrapped around the substantial girth of the cock Arthur belatedly realised he should probably be quite proud of, if Merlin’s look of abject wonderment was anything to go by. The man in question lowered his head and licked a long stripe along the underside of the cock in his hand, smirking in victory when Arthur moaned long and low, unable to do anything with his free hand but clutch helplessly at the duvet cover.Chuckling deep in his chest, Merlin gave a few exploratory pulls, pleased when Arthur arched up into the contact.

“I can’t wait to take you apart, over and over and over again,” said Merlin, pressing a kiss to the leaking tip of Arthur’s cock before swallowing it down, invoking a surprised grunt from him - being suddenly engulfed in wet heat had been a shock, and he only barely managed to suppress the urge to thrust upwards into the waiting mouth.

Taking Arthur apart was exactly what Merlin set his mind to, slowly building momentum until he was bobbing his head in earnest, drool leaking from the corners of his stretched lips. Arthur, for his part, could only float along on a little cloud of desire. No-one had ever paid attention to him in such a way - as though they got pleasure simply by making him feel good. None of his (admittedly few) sexual partners had taken the time to get to know his body; hell, even the girl he’d slept with every time he came home on leave hadn’t understood what turned him on in the same way Merlin had apparently grasped in one evening.

A familiar pressure began to build in the well of his stomach, a series of bitten off sounds choking themselves out from behind his gritted teeth as the muscles of his thighs began to twitch. Just as Arthur threw his head backwards, tendons of his neck straining, Merlin squeezed the base of his cock and pulled his mouth away. With a small, apologetic smile, he rested his chin against the jut of Arthur’s hip.

“ _Mer_ lin, what the fuck?” Arthur gritted out, stars exploding behind his eyes even as he gave the dark curls between his fingers a sharp tug.

“This is not the time for you to figure out I like having my hair pulled,” the brunette laughed breathily, his own hips grinding discreetly against the mattress below them. “I just wanted to ask a question.”

Arthur propped himself up on his elbows and glared down at the man between his legs, though there was no real heat in his gaze.

“Of course you have a question. Go on, then. Ask away.”

“You said you want me to fuck you - do you really, or…”

Unbidden, heat rose to Arthur’s cheeks. It had been all very well to say the words in jest, but asking for it felt like one imposition too far. A knowing, tender expression settled upon Merlin’s face, and his brows knit together in something akin to empathy as he pressed a light kiss to the hip below him. Thoughtfully, he settled his chin back down and trailed his fingers over the thatch of hair at the juncture of Arthur’s thighs.

“I’ve been with guys before - like, the odd hand job at school, one stupid thing at an army function - but I’ve never done… this.” Arthur gestured wildly at his own prone form and the gentle, teasing strokes Merlin continued to administer upon his poor, aching cock. Never taking his eyes from Arthur’s, Merlin nodded sagely; he seemed to be pondering the best course of action.

“What am I working with here? Like, if you don’t mind me asking-”

“I think it’s safe to say I don’t mind you asking.”

“-have you, you know? Explored your body? With your fingers? Recently? Or are we starting completely from the ground up? _Why_ are you - fucking hell, you're making me _blush_ , oh my _God_.”

Arthur’s answering grin was a lazy, wrecked affair, and he tugged Merlin’s hair again to wrestle him back from the brink of mortification.

“I’ll have you know masturbation is an excellent tool for stress relief,” he said simply, the implication hanging heavy behind his words. Merlin released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“Well, thank fuck for that,” he muttered, immediately transforming Arthur’s laugh into a groan as he gave a rough pull on his cock.

Once Merlin's fingers were liberally slathered in lube, the first graze against the puckered furl between Arthur’s legs made the blonde shudder, legs fallen open of their own accord in undisguised anticipation. Merlin’s swagger had returned in spades, and between teasing kitten licks to the tip of his cock and the press of his finger against his rim, he spoke to Arthur as casually as could be.

“One day, I’m going to go down on you properly,” he stated, his free hand kneading the tension from Arthur’s thigh. “I’m going to absolutely ruin you with my tongue, make you come without even touching your dick.” He pressed a soft, steadying kiss to the spot just behind the other man’s balls before taking one into his mouth, the heady scent of musk and a tang of sweat dizzying him even more than the tight clench of Arthur’s arse as he finally breached it with one fingertip.

“Not that I don’t love your filthy mouth, but could you stop talking for, like, five seconds and just kiss me?” came Arthur’s breathless reply. He tugged Merlin up as best he could, tilting his head and spreading his legs with a shift of his hips to nudge the digit inside him more deeply.

Only too happy to oblige, Merlin greedily consumed every one of Arthur’s utterances into his mouth, voiding any embarrassment the other man might feel by pouring out his own in echo. Their legs tangled, Merlin ground his own erection into Arthur’s hip as he worked him open, gradually adding a second finger and coaxing him into loose-limbed relaxation.

Finally, Arthur’s hand sought out Merlin’s cock, sliding uninvited into his underwear and wrapping around the pulsing heat he found with a pleased purr. He began to pump in earnest, adding a twist of his wrist and a flick of his thumb which had Merlin keening within moments.

“If you want me to last, you’d best stop showing off,” he grunted, chancing his luck by sliding a third and final finger into the loosening ring of muscle between Arthur’s legs. The blonde managed half a smug grin before Merlin crooked his fingers and found the spot he’d been searching for. An unmistakable whimper raised Arthur’s hips completely off the bed, his eyes screwing closed.

“Fuck,” he panted, scraping his teeth against Merlin’s lower lip. “Now who’s showing off.” 

“Oh, you have no idea. A bit of practice and neither of us will be able to walk for days.”

“Is that a promise?”

“You bet. Are you ready?”

At Arthur’s stiff nod, Merlin motioned for him to turn onto all fours. The blonde suddenly became reticent; Merlin continued to pump his fingers as he allowed Arthur time to work through whatever thoughts were going through his head, awkwardly shucking off his underwear with one hand and reaching clumsily for the condom on the nightstand.

“It’ll be easier this way, if it’s your first time.”

In a show of great stubbornness, Arthur shook his head, drinking in the sight of Merlin’s hard cock bobbing at his stomach. The other man removed his fingers, ignoring Arthur’s disappointed groan at the emptiness, now focused upon rolling on the condom and lubing up as liberally as he could.

“No. I want to see you.”

For a moment Merlin studied his face, pulling lazily at his own erection and nibbling anxiously at his thumbnail.

“You’ll be much more comfortable - I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You could never hurt me, Merlin. I trust you.”

“Don’t be a twat, it’s going to hurt and you know it. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather top?”

“Not tonight. Bit late to ask anyway, eh? Bloody hell, Merlin, get on with it!”

With an eye roll that looked almost painful, Merlin snatched a pillow and placed it under Arthur’s hips, settling on his knees between Arthur’s parted thighs.

“You’re such a bossy bottom,” he muttered, lining up with his entrance. “When it’s my turn, I’ll give just as good as I got. Ready, _your highness_?”

The bite of his words was softened by the soothing circles he smoothed across Arthur’s hipbone.

Merlin had not been wrong, Arthur realised with chagrin. It hurt like all hell. Even with the obscene amount of lube and the practiced machinations of Merlin’s clever fingers, tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. One warm palm pressed to the soft, muscled planes of Arthur’s belly as the other danced back and forth over his thigh, as inch by excruciating inch, Merlin entered him.

“Let me know when I can move,” Merlin murmured, leaning down to suck a mark on Arthur’s clavicle with such reverence the blonde could have sobbed. The pale man trembled with the effort of holding himself still, so focused on Arthur’s comfort that every tendon seemed to strain against his skin.

Tearing his eyes away from Merlin’s, Arthur gazed down in wonderment at the spot where their bodies joined. His own legs were parted wantonly, spread and ready for the cock buried between them. The vulnerability of his position reawakened the thrum of his desire, which had ebbed slightly due to the pain. He hadn’t realised the deep yearning he carried to be relinquished of all responsibility could be satisfied in this way, simply by yielding control to this glorious human next to him.

Thoughtfully, he pulled his hips back fractionally before bearing down once more. _Oh_. Though the burn was still very much present, a ripple of pleasure trickled through him from his head to his toes. With a small smile he repeated the action, thrilling at the choked back groan Merlin tried so hard to hide. He pulled the other man down to kiss him languorously, each tiny twitch of his hips turning the tide of sensations.

“Can I?” Merlin asked for the second time, his lips catching on Arthur’s as he spoke.

“Make love to me, Merlin,” replied Arthur in a whisper, shuddering as a frisson of understanding rippled between them at the same time as Merlin tried one minute, experimental thrust which buried him to the hilt.

From then, they were lost. In what seemed like no time, all discomfort had dissolved and only bliss remained. The sounds of their mutual pleasure were swallowed by kisses, a symphony of call and response painting the air in the void between their mouths. A spontaneous, unapologetic sob surged from Arthur’s core as Merlin hooked one knee over his shoulder, pressing him further into the mattress, hitting that spot inside him with every thrust. Scrabbling for purchase, Arthur wrapped his other leg around Merlin’s and gripped the soft flesh of his buttock in one large hand. He didn’t fail to notice the way Merlin whined when he trailed one finger through the cleft there, and filed it away for later.

Ever tender, their desperation for completion grew strong and as such their movements became frantic. Merlin, now pounding into Arthur so hard each of the blonde’s breaths came in an audible little _‘uh_ ’, wrapped a hand around Arthur’s cock and began to strip it mercilessly, latching onto his favourite spot on his neck and sucking another fresh hickey there for good measure.

He moved his mouth back to hover over Arthur’s, cupping his cheek just as the blonde’s pleasure began to crest. When his climax finally peaked, Merlin’s name was wrenched from Arthur’s throat like a prayer, his eyes wide and focused as he seemed to stare into the depths of Merlin’s soul, simultaneously seeing all and seeing nothing. Arthur’s come was hot and sticky where it spilled in long ropes over Merlin’s hand and their bellies.

For a second, Arthur was sure he would faint. His eyes rolled back in his head as Merlin’s thrusts became absolutely wild, brushing again and again across his spent cock and overstimulated prostate. In a stroke of considerable genius, considering the total lack of blood and oxygen anywhere near his brain, Arthur clenched around Merlin’s cock - and there it was. Merlin’s orgasm washed over him like a wave, thundering from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. His movements stilled as he came silently, mouth open and eyes wide as though in shock.

With trembling limbs, Merlin lowered himself down atop Arthur, his softening cock still inside him. They eyed one another carefully, chests heaving and sweat collecting at the place where their foreheads met. With an exhausted smile which Arthur readily returned, Merlin pulled out of him with a wince and flopped onto his back, tangling their fingers together and staring at the ceiling in mutual awed silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it. I'll be in my bunk xD


	13. Chapter 13

“Morning, mum,” Merlin grumbled, his voice roughened by lack of proper sleep. Balancing the phone on his ear, he shifted closer to Arthur’s prone form where he lay stretched out on his stomach, still slumbering soundly with his breath coming in slow, deep sighs.

“Morning, darling. Happy new year,” replied his mother, far too brightly for someone who had also been drinking the previous evening. “Did you have a good night?”

Thinking back to the preceding hours, Merlin couldn’t stop the grin which etched itself onto his face. The kisses, the touching, the closeness - the way Arthur had woken him a couple of hours ago to indulge in a lazy handjob while he took revenge for the love bites blooming on his neck by peppering Merlin’s skin with a couple of his own.

“Yeah. I had a very good night. How was your evening with Auntie Floss?”

“Is there a particular reason you are whispering, Merlin Emrys?” The teasing tone of his mother’s voice was unmistakable, and Merlin had never been able to lie to her.

“Arthur is still asleep,” he muttered, grazing his lips across the velvety skin of Arthur’s shoulder. “He sleeps like the dead when he’s exhausted.”

“It’s eleven o’clock in the morning!”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

“What I know you want me to say.”

“And what might that be?”

“We had a late night, okay?”

Arthur himself chose that moment to crack one eye open, obviously irritated to be woken. With a disgruntled huff, he pushed Merlin onto his back and shuffled over to flop heavily onto his chest, his face buried into his neck.

“Shut _up_ , Merlin,” he grumbled.

Chuckling, the brunette began to run his finger idly up and down the length of Arthur’s spine, from his tailbone to the base of his neck.

“Now he’s grumpy - being awoken from his beauty sleep clearly doesn’t agree with him.”

Hunith laughed loudly as Merlin yelped: Arthur had pinched him roughly upon the waist.

“I just wanted to let you know that someone dropped off a parcel for Arthur yesterday, that’s all. I also wanted to know if you’re still coming over for dinner?”

Dinner on the first day of a new year had always been tradition in their family, and some of Merlin’s earliest memories involved sitting around a table with his parents and grandparents, love and laughter flowing like fine wine. For the last few years, it had only been the two of them at the table, the joy of the occasion somewhat dimmed by the pang of so much loss. Merlin continued to contemplatively stroke Arthur’s back; every so often he allowed his fingers to dance lower, affording himself the luxury of pressing into the soft, malleable flesh of the other man’s delectable backside.

“Of course we’ll be there. Five o’clock alright? Shall I bring anything?”

Arthur’s contented hum was so resonant Hunith was sure to have heard it, and the sigh she gave was a happy one.

“Just yourself. And that charming young man of yours, preferably still in one piece. See you later!”

Without warning, the cackling Hunith hung up on Merlin’s spluttered attempt at rebuttal. Disgusted at the prospect of his _mother_ knowing about his sex life, he chucked his phone to the floor and wrapped both of his arms around Arthur’s broad shoulders in an effort to distract himself.

The man in his embrace squirmed closer, a welcome if weighty burden upon Merlin’s more slender frame. The silence that settled upon them was serene; even the normally thronging streets of London just outside the window seemed to be all but deserted. Merlin pressed a kiss to the head upon his chest, content to bask in happiness and the dim light filtering through his cheap curtains. 

“Arthur?” he asked softly, half expecting him to have gone back to sleep.

“Hm?”

The flutter of lashes against his skin signalled that Arthur had opened his eyes, expectant.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

Merlin wasn’t quite sure where the question had come from; he wasn’t even sure if he knew how he felt on the matter himself. The issue of soulmates or twin flames or kindred spirits was not something he had ever pondered at great length, but Arthur surprised him by answering almost immediately. His voice was gruff with sleep and his tone peaceful as he trailed his fingers through the sparse hair of Merlin’s chest.

“Yes.” Arthur paused, hooking a leg around Merlin’s under the duvet and pressing a clumsy kiss to his throat. “If you’d asked me that a month ago, I’d have said no. But now - yeah. I do.”

Choking back a surprised sob, Merlin replied with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

“Cool. I do, too. If you do.”

“Good.” A beat, then, “Can I go back to sleep now?”

—

Their first breakfast of the new year consisted of half a tube of Jaffa Cakes and a packet of crisps each, lounging cross legged on the bed in fresh underwear. The pair chatted inanely about nothing in particular, swapping stories of childhood friends and embarrassing moments. Just as Arthur began to wax lyrical about the correct way to eat a Jaffa Cake (by nibbling off the edges, picking the chocolate from the top, swallowing down the sponge as quickly as possible and letting the jelly rest on your tongue for as long as you could, apparently), Merlin slapped a hand to his own forehead.

“I forgot to say! I’m such an idiot!”

“Yes you are, thank you for sharing - but I’m afraid it’s not news to me.”

“Oh, fuck _off,_ you supercilious prat. Mum told me Helen dropped off a box for you.”

The mirth in Arthur’s sparkling eyes died almost instantly, his expression clouding over at once.

The intoxicating joy of knowing the Owens’ couple were not his kin, combined with the camaraderie of friendship, the hope of a new year and the bone deep fulfilment of a night filled with mind-blowing sex had driven all traces of anxiety from Arthur’s mind, but now they came tumbling back with perfect clarity. Merlin grimaced as he watched Arthur’s happiness collapse like a deck of cards.

“Have you thought about it much? What happened yesterday?”

Merlin’s tone was gentle and coaxing, and he was careful not to fix the other man with too intense a stare lest he make him feel ambushed.

“I didn’t really have much of a chance,” Arthur mumbled around the half-eaten piece of confectionary in his mouth. “I don’t really know what to do. If I was adopted - should I try and _find_ my birth mother?”

“Is that something you’d want?”

“Honestly, Merlin? I don’t know. If you were in my position - what would you do?”

Merlin leaned back on his hands, catching Arthur’s intent gaze and holding it as he contemplated.

What would he do, in a similar situation? It stood to reason that the person who had given their son up had done so for a purpose, and perhaps didn’t want to be found. If it turned out that the child had been the result of a terrible situation, or that the mother was unable to take care of him, or perhaps they had died long ago… Could Arthur take more pain? On the other hand, it could be a simple case of a young mum who wanted to give her child a life which held more promise than she envisioned being able to give him. She might be alive and well and dreaming of the day she could meet her baby.

Rubbing a palm across the faint fuzz of stubble on his cheek, Merlin took one more moment to consider the storm that raged in Arthur’s eyes: they were a tumultuous, steely blue, and his focus was, as always, unwavering.

“I’d want to know. I think I’d walk into it knowing that the outcome might not be the one I wanted, but… I don’t think I could live the rest of my life without knowing.”

“You’re right, of course. Who’d have thought someone like you could be so wise?”

Laughing, Merlin launched forwards out of his repose and knocked Arthur onto his back, his forearms bracketing the blonde head.

“Me, wise? I think you’re still drunk, Arthur.”

With a tongue touched grin, Arthur responded, “I am - I’m drunk on you.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, unable to contain a snort of derision for his own overly sentimental line.

“You disgust me,” sighed Merlin, the lopsided smile and unguarded affection in his eyes contradicting his words.With a deep, soulful exhale, he closed the distance between their lips and captured Arthur’s in a sweet kiss. One kiss turned into two, and in no time at all the rest of the afternoon was lost to them.

—

Truly, it had been a monumental struggle to clamber out of the comforting cloister that was Merlin’s sweaty, sated embrace. It had taken Arthur an embarrassingly long time to ready himself in clean clothes (which he’d thankfully had the foresight to leave at the flat) and brush his teeth, and even longer to persuade Merlin to comb his hair for him on the pretence of wanting to present a neat image to Hunith.

Now he sat stiff as a board upon the living room floor, staring unblinkingly at the cardboard box before him. His name was scrawled across the top in black marker pen, the ink bleeding slightly from being exposed to the damp air of the attic. Merlin and Hunith had made themselves scarce, and their clattering around in the kitchen barely cut through the fog in his brain as he contemplated his next actions.

The box contained photographs, Helen had said. His baby teddy. Letters. What need did he have for any of these things? In his memory, Thomas Owens had been nothing but a dark, looming shadow on the periphery of his childhood and Helen herself little more than a lingering cold touch; a phantom figure. No amount of baby photos would change that. No amount of assurances that they had indeed loved him once before things got too complicated. Too complicated? What could be _less_ complicated than loving a child? Arthur had a good mind to toss the entire thing in the bin unopened.

The first flutterings of anxiety began to wriggle in his chest, but Arthur staved them off with a long inhale and the soothing, repetitive nature of drumming a simple four beat rhythm on the floor with the tip of one finger. Never taking his narrowed eyes away from the box as though at any moment it may lunge and attack him like a wild beast, he reached out one tentative hand to draw it closer.

Having not burst into flames upon contact, Arthur considered this a good omen. What harm coulda box do, really?

Finally flipping it open, the first thing his hand found was a small bundle of fuzzy, matted fur. Almost immediately the warm tingle of pleasant memories flickered to life as he drew out the golden bear with one eye missing and a frayed red ribbon tied around its neck. Vaguely, Arthur recalled that the bear was called Philip - who had come up with the name, and why? A minute, sombre tilt of his mouth gave Arthur leeway to fall backwards into the pool of recollections in which this little bear was his constant, faithful companion. At some point around his seventh birthday Philip had gone missing and he had been inconsolable for weeks; it seemed someone had deemed the child too old for soft toys.

Arthur set the bear upon his lap and extracted a small bundle of photographs bound by an elastic band. The first image was of him as little more than a newborn, being cradled by an apparently enraptured Thomas. The man stared down at the tiny baby in his arms with shining adoration, as though the scrunched face, ruddy complexion and scrabbly nails were the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld. He’d certainly never looked in Arthur’s direction with an expression even close to that in the years that would follow, and the thought opened up a pit of sorrow in Arthur’s stomach.

The next few photographs were in a similar style: him as a baby being held by various members of his family, then sitting upright on the carpet with the alert, wondering expression only ever found on the faces of babies exploring the world for the first time. There were no images of him past the age of around two, he noticed.

A couple of photos stood out to him for their irregularity. While he knew everyone in the others he’d looked at thus far, the woman in this particular picture was a stranger. She sat in a plush armchair in an unfamiliar room, swathed in a blood-red dress. Her face was long and indescribably pale, framed by curtains of raven hair and her eyes - pale, bottomless pools of blue - stared directly down the lense of the camera. Her stained, pouting lips did not smile.

The final picture in the stack was equally perplexing, because he was the only one in it. Baby Arthur lay in a large, lush cot far superior to the one he knew he’d had with the Owens’s. The photograph was taken from a downward angle, and the only other sign of life within was the hand which reached down towards the child: a woman’s hand, pale and slender at the wrist with long fingers, on which she wore a very striking ring. It was sturdily made from silver or platinum, a band of gold striking through the centre. Arthur brought the photo closer to his face, screwing up his eyes to try and see the detail more clearly. This was definitely not his childhood home, nor was this Helen’s hand, nor any ring he’d seen her wear. 

A sudden realisation struck him like an arrow to the chest. It was perfectly possible that one of these unknown women was his real mother.

—

Hunith pressed a hand to her mouth as Merlin relayed the events of the previous day, from Helen’s revelation about Arthur being adopted to Thomas being pinned to the wall by his throat.

“That poor, poor boy,” she murmured as she crimped the edge of the pie she was making. “And he wants to try and look for his real family?”

Merlin nodded from his seat at the table, his eyes fixed on the potatoes he continued to peel.

“He does. For now, at least. He might change his mind in the long run, but… who knows.”

“Bless him, he deserves to be happy. Do _not_ break his heart, Merlin.”

The squawk which issued from her sons throat at that pronouncement was shrill and indignant.

“I won’t! I’m more worried about _him_ breaking _my_ heart.”

“Why’s that, cariad?”

A sudden slip into Welsh endearments meant his mother was truly paying attention: her concern was stark, and she quickly rinsed her hands off so as to place an affectionate hand on Merlin’s head.

“Oh, don’t worry. He hasn’t done anything to upset me… Hell, he’s perfect.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“That _is_ the problem. Look at him. Somewhere along the line he’ll realise he can do so much better. All I can do is enjoy it while it lasts.”

Instead of tender platitudes, Hunith delivered a sharp smack to the back of his head with the flat of her palm, right across the spot she had been smoothing mere moments before.

“Merlin Emrys, you little-”

“Am I interrupting?”

Arthur’s voice drifted from the doorway and the pair turned to find him holding a stack of papers.

Blinking owlishly and without waiting for a response, the blonde flopped down into an empty chair and laid his bundle out before him. There were quite a few photographs, and then a large, heavy looking envelope sealed with sticky tape. Within moments Hunith was peering over his shoulder, cooing dreamily over the thought of babies.

“Oh, look at you! Such a little thing! You do put me in mind of someone as a baby - I can’t put my finger on it.”

“All babies look the same, mum. They’re all weird looking and do nothing but scream.”

In frightening synchronicity, Hunith and Arthur turned identical raised eyebrows of disdain in Merlin’s direction, so much so that he quailed under the combined weight of their stares and back-pedalled as frantically as he was able. “Well, of course, with the exception of you, Arthur. And… me? Yes, me. We were both adorable, angelic bundles of joy who were perfectly behaved from the word go.”

“Well that’s a lie and you know it,” Hunith snorted. “You really do remind me of someone. I’ve been thinking it for a while, but I can’t for the life of me think who it is. What’s this?”

Arthur lifted the envelope, turning it over in his hands. His name adorned the back in a spiky scrawl.

“It’s a letter. From Helen, I assume - that’s her handwriting. I can’t decide whether to open it. I’d kind of hoped one of you would do it for me.”

His eyes found Merlin’s, who found himself reaching out immediately to take the proffered letter. Silently, Arthur watched as the brunette carefully unpicked the sticky tape and tore the envelope open. One piece of paper fluttered out, followed swiftly by a much smaller, thicker packet which appeared be secured with - of all things - a wax seal. Barely sparing this smaller letter a glance, Merlin shook out Helen’s note, which seemed to be scribbled hastily across one side of A4.

“Dear Arthur,” Merlin began, reaching out his free hand and settling it atop Arthur’s. “I know an apology can never reverse the things we did to you, but please know that I am sorry. You were a chance for us to be parents, and I can promise you that you were cherished. We were tricked, Arthur, and you were robbed of a life more wonderful than I can even imagine. When you were very small we discovered something about you which put us in danger, and we were so blinded by selfishness and fear that we did not consider the consequences our actions would have upon you. The enclosed letter was written by your birth mother, as far as I know - I have never opened it, but think it’s time you knew who you really are, and I was assured this letter will tell you. Once again, I am so sorry, and I hope you find the peace and happiness you so richly deserve. Helen.”

Hunith squeezed Arthur’s shoulders as Merlin threw the sheet aside, clasping Arthur’s hands between both of his in a vicelike grip. Arthur himself gazed intently at the little vellum envelope as though it may explode at any second. He picked it up in one trembling hand and studied it. The wax seal was old; and the small emblem was difficult to make out. It looked like some kind of winged creature - a pegasus, perhaps? He looked a little closer. No, it was a dragon. Definitely a dragon.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he said. Merlin’s grasp tightened, and although he did not speak, it was clear in his eyes and the grim turn of his mouth that he would wait forever until Arthur was ready, his own curiosity be damned. In the end it was Hunith who broke the moment, leaning down to press a gentle kiss full of maternal warmth to the top of Arthur’s head.

“You can, Arthur. You can.”

With a quaking breath, Arthur withdrew his hand from Merlin’s and broke the seal easily - the many years since it had been pressed, molten and scorching into the parchment had dried it out and it came away without a fuss. Before he could even begin to read, Arthur’s eyes gravitated towards the small sigil at the top of the first sheet of paper. Hunith’s gasp made his blood run cold even as he stared at the tiny golden dragon centred on a crimson circle. Everyone in the country - hell, everyone in the _world -_ knew this symbol. This was the crest of the current sitting monarchs of the United Kingdom - the house of Pendragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAMN HERE WE GOOOOOO


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks.

“That’s it,” Hunith muttered, her fingernails now digging into Arthur’s shoulders hard enough to make him wince. “That’s why I recognise you.”

Merlin looked from his mother’s agog expression to Arthur’s nonplussed frown and then to the back to the paper held in Arthur’s hands.

“What am I missing?” he quizzed, scrabbling around the table to lean on Arthur’s other side. Below the Pendragon sigil - for that was indeed what it was, there was no mistaking it - was a note written in the most exquisite cursive script Merlin had ever seen.

“Read it with me?” Arthur asked with a little too much indifference to be convincing. Merlin pressed a fleeting kiss to his temple then leaned forwards in perfect unison with Hunith. Together, the trio read the letter which began thus:

_Dear Arthur,_

_This is not an easy letter to write. I find myself in a challenging situation - one of the most challenging I have ever faced - and have no other option but to confess to you. I have done you a terrible wrong, Arthur, and I apologise for that. You were a newborn babe when I stole away with you into the night, and it was my own cowardice which stopped me from returning you to your parents immediately._

_Excuses mean little when one has been mistreated, but I do hope that when this letter finds you (if it finds you) you have lead a long and happy life. When I took you I was suffering most deeply, and was not in my right mind. You were the unfortunate who bore the brunt of my trauma and delirium, and for that I am more sorry than I can ever express._

_Your true parents are Igraine Du Bois and Uther Pendragon, my brother - at the moment of writing, he is the reigning monarch of the United Kingdom. I expect this will come as a shock to you - it did to the unfortunate couple who took you into their care. They had no idea of my identity when I came into their lives with a child in need of care I could not provide. I do hope that this revelation will not make them treat you any differently and that they continue to be kind to you._

_I am not long for this world, little nephew. I have been so beaten and broken by it that I am happy to fade into death as quietly as I lived. I have left your maternal uncle, Aggravaine, in charge of overseeing your upbringing from afar, to ensure that you are raised and educated in a manner befitting the prince you are by blood and birth, even if you are unaware of the fact. He knows of my plans and I know he will not fail me._

_You are a prince, little one, and if I had not been so stupid you would one day have been king. I may have robbed you of this chance, but I will take nothing else from you. It is my dearest wish that one day the fates design will bring you back full circle to the bosom of the family which so craved a son._

_Please do not dismiss these words as the ramblings of a madwoman. Take them instead as the deepest regrets of an aunt who loved you, but who was too weak to make the right choices._

_Yours with warmest regards,_

_HRH Princess Nimueh Pendragon_

_Duchess of Kent_

Perhaps it was the hysteria rising in his throat, but the first thing which puzzled Arthur about the letter was the style in which it was written - with such floridity and overly elaborate word choice, this had not been penned by someone poorly educated. The actual content of the note had not quite filtered through the wall of abject bewilderment that had raised itself around his mind almost immediately. Merlin and Hunith drew away slightly, each sighing an identical exhale of astonishment.

“Arthur-”

“I don’t understand. I don’t - what does this mean? What is she saying? Who is this woman? I’ve never heard of her. This is nonsense. It’s ridiculous.”

For the first time Arthur addressed Hunith in a tone which was less than polite, icy panic lacing his voice. She stopped speaking immediately and dropped into the chair which Merlin had vacated.

“It’s not ridiculous, darling. It makes sense,” she ventured, reaching out to brush Arthur’s hand. He shook away from her touch, teeth bared.

“I can assure you it does not.”

“Don’t speak to her like that!” Merlin interjected, jerking away to glower down at the blonde.

“I’ll speak to her however I damn well please, thank you. This is absolute bullshit. I’m going out.”

Merlin watched in horror as Arthur whirled from the room, barely taking time to grab his coat and shoes from the hallway before crashing out of the flat - the slam of the door was so violent it shook the walls.

Too numb from shock to follow him, Merlin simply stared at the empty doorway. He could not look down at his mother even though she was gazing fixedly at him with an expression which was doubtlessly filled with sympathy.

“It’s true,” she said softly. “I knew I recognised him - he looks so like the queen. And these photos, Merlin - this is the baby who’s face was all over the news every day for six months.”

“No. No, it can’t be. It’s not him.”

“Yes, it _is_. Merlin, the baby was _called Arthur_. They hadn’t even got around to announcing his name when he was taken. No-one ever knew that except those closest to the family. Your dad found out years later through the Princess Morgana.”

“How can anyone not have recognised a _princess_? I’ve never heard of her either. This is Helen’s idea of a horrible joke, maybe one final way for them to torment Arthur. Surely, that’s it?”

“Princess Nimueh was of delicate health since childhood, and was kept completely out of the public eye. We all knew she existed, but she never performed any public royal duties. She may even have been in your father’s car at some point and we’d have no idea. It’s perfectly possible.”

Gasping for breath, Merlin felt tears of frustration well in his eyes and did nothing to stop them from falling.

For Arthur to be royalty was so far outside the realms of imagination - and yet, was it? Now that Merlin truly considered, there was a certain regal quality about the man which seemed to run deeper than his Harrow education. Then there was the undeniable good looks, which could well have been carefully honed through generations of inbreeding. From memory, the entire Pendragon family did seem to be unfairly attractive. Then of course there was the time span to consider: Arthur was the right age to be the kidnapped prince, and of course if his mother had the correct information, even the name matched.

However, if Arthur was indeed a royal, then it was a foregone conclusion that their relationship was over before it had really begun. The realisation struck Merlin like a knife to the gut, the pain of it so fierce that he physically doubled over, clutching the back of the chair in front of him for support.

“Mum…” When he spoke his voice was little more than a groan. “I’ve just found him. How can I have lost him already?”

“Oh, my baby. Come here,” Hunith soothed, enveloping her grown son in her arms, never flinching as he sobbed into her shoulder.

—

Morgana had always loved watching the crowds outside Buckingham Palace. She utterly detested the building itself, with its draughty corridors and the persistent leaky spots in the roof. However, since childhood she had found solace in curling up on one particular window seat which overlooked The Mall and woolgathering as the throngs of people milled around outside the gates. They snapped photographs and craned their necks in the hope of catching a glimpse of a royal, not realising that a royal was catching a glimpse of _them_. Since adulthood had come for her, she was much happier spending her days at Clarence House or Kensington Palace, but special occasions always called the family back to this Westminster monstrosity.

She really should be preparing for dinner, but the black mood regarding the ill health of her father still lingered over her like a mantle, and so she pulled the heavy velvet curtain across her hiding spot and curled like a cat into the shadows.

The Mall was mostly deserted, which came as no surprise. Given the day and the fact that darkness had fallen quite a few hours previously, those still out and about were often lonely souls with nowhere else to be or some unfortunates who had to work even on a national holiday. One particular man was sitting on the steps of the Victoria Monument opposite (another ugly edifice which Morgana detested), watching the palace intently. Even in the dark it was clear from his tightly knotted limbs that he was in distress. He seemed to rock back and forth, chewing on his nails, and appeared to be wound tightly enough to snap.

The princess had a good heart, and could never watch a person suffering if there was even the possibility of her being able to help. Morgana cursed herself for her bleeding heart complex and shrunk further into the gloom.

—

Arthur’s phone buzzed in his pocket, rousing him from the tumult of emotions tumbling around inside his skull like laundry in a washing machine. Sighing, he drew it out. The screen displayed a brief text from Merlin - the first time he had tried to contact Arthur in the couple of hours since his unforgivable outburst at Hunith.

_Ping me your location?_

Obviously, Merlin wanted to come and find him. He would be overly concerned; perhaps worried that Arthur was readying himself to jump into the river or even disappear entirely. Despite being unsure he could deal with Merlin’s mollycoddling at this precise moment in time, Arthur did as he was bid and shared his location with Merlin using the handy little app on his phone which tracked him via satellite. His phone buzzed again.

_Already in central. Be there in fifteen._

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arthur knew Merlin may well mock him later for his abysmal choice of moping spot: right slap bang in front of Buckingham fucking Palace. Strictly speaking, he hadn’t intended to end up here. He’d just jumped on the tube at Kentish Town in a rage, hopped off at Charing Cross in a funk and meandered down The Mall in a daze. Before he knew it, he was freezing his arse off on the steps of the ugliest monument in London and staring up at what was apparently his family home through a haze of choked back tears.

There was little doubt in Arthur’s mind that the person who had penned the fateful letter had been suffering from some grave mental affliction. And yet… and yet. It did seem to have a small ring of truth in it. The tiniest grain, perhaps. It did appear to be true that Helen and Thomas Owens had been genuinely thrilled to take him in, and that something had changed their minds when it was too late to pass him over to someone else. He’d always known that they had a deep seated dislike for the royal family, and had tried to raise him to feel the same, though he’d never really had an opinion either way.

Everything was happening much too fast. Less than thirty days ago he had been sleeping on the street, then destiny had dealt him a winning hand by bringing him under Merlin’s care. If this revelation were true, where would that leave them? Arthur was sure he’d die if he was asked to choose between a family and the man he loved. Dully, he pondered whether there was any way he could have both.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Startled, Arthur whipped around to find Merlin standing awkwardly a few feet away with his hands tucked into his coat pockets and his toes turned inward in a childlike manifestation of insecurity. The mere sight of Merlin brought upon a flush of searing heat which flooded into Arthur’s chest so quickly it almost made him miss the butterflies which erupted in his stomach.

“I was just thinking, your boyfriend is an idiot.”

“I have a boyfriend?”

Merlin took a step closer, brow cocked. Biting back a smile at his teasing tone, Arthur gave one slow, magnanimous nod.

“You do, if you want one. Like I said, he’s a bit of an ass.”

“Oh, I could've told you that you were an ass. I just didn’t realise you were a royal one.”

“What? Fuck off.”

Chuckling, Merlin sat gingerly on the step next to Arthur, a welcome warmth pressed against his side.

“Sorry. Too soon?”

The only response Arthur could muster was an undignified squawk. After a very pregnant pause, he tossed his arm around Merlin’s neck and pulled him into a headlock. Scrubbing at the dark curls with his knuckles for good measure, Arthur continued until Merlin choked out his surrender, winded from laughing.

They lapsed into contended silence for a beat, their shoulders bumping together every so often was they gazed up at the floodlit facade of the palace. A twitching curtain near the east wing drew their eyes, but it was too dark to see detail.

“It’s me who should be apologising. I’m so sorry for the way I spoke to your mum. And to you, of course. Truly sorry.” Arthur hung his head, sagging forwards in a perfect imitation of the downtrodden man he’d been when Merlin had first encountered him.

“I don’t need an apology. Mum said she doesn’t either, but… I want you to apologise to her. She means well,” replied Merlin, reaching across to thread his fingers through Arthur’s.

Looking down at their entwined hands, Arthur had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop it from trembling. Everything might feel like too much, but Arthur realised Merlin would happily shoulder some of the burden himself.

“Would you believe me if I said I’m frightened?” asked Arthur without raising his eyes. Merlin chortled, the eye roll unseen but implied.

“I’d be more worried if you weren’t. This is _huge_.”

“Really, I don’t know whether I’d prefer for it to be the truth or a massive hoax. What if I really do belong…” Arthur broke off, waving his free hand jerkily towards the edifice before them. “What if I really do belong in _there_? Of all places? Look at me, Merlin! There is nothing about me that is even remotely royal.”

“If that’s you fishing for a compliment, you’re not going to get it.”

“But then, what’s if it’s a lie? What if this is all some stupid scheme cooked up to make me look even more of a tit than ever? But _then_ , Merlin, what if it’s _true_?”

“You’ve done this bit.”

“If it’s true and a really am a prince - which is ridiculous, by the way - what happens to you and I? Losing you would kill me, but would you really want to lose the life you’d worked so hard for just to stay with me?”

Against his better instincts Arthur turned to Merlin at that, his eyes imploring. Merlin, for his part, let his mouth fall open in frankly insulting surprise. His grip tightened around Arthur’s fingers as he turned his body further around, eyes and lips glistening with promise and starlight.

“That’s what’s worrying you?”

“I wouldn’t want to put you in that position. I - fuck, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but fuck it, this is already the weirdest day of my life - I love you too much for that.”

The sentence hung in the air as thickly as desert heat. Arthur felt the hair on the back of his neck begin to prickle as the reality of what he’d said fully dawned on him. For a moment, Arthur’s jaw hinged back and forth, giving him a distinctly fish-like expression until Merlin gripped him by the chin with mirth dancing in his eyes.

“You absolute prat! Look, no-one can predict how this is going to pan out, okay? This might all come to nothing for so many reasons: you might turn out not to be Arthur bloody _Pendragon_ after all, or you might decide not to bother even pursuing it in the first place. Only you can decide that. Me? I’m with you as long as you’ll have me, seeing as I’ve gone and fallen in love with you as well.”

“Well, fuck. We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Arthur’s laugh was wild and free as he tossed his head back, giddy with joy he didn’t have the heart to try and hide. Merlin’s echoing chuckle was fond.

“You swear an awful lot for a prince, you know.”

—

Pulling her thick woollen cardigan around herself, Morgana watched from the window as the now laughing men walked away hand in hand. The thickset chap seemed to have lightened considerably, and strolled along with what could almost be considered a spring in his step. The more slight one with hair as dark as her own wrapped an arm around him as they cast one final look over their shoulders towards the palace, before continuing on into the night.

Although it had been impossible to even guess their ages from this distance, the sight of them working through whatever had been troubling the fair-haired one had been joyful to behold, and it gave her hope for her own situation. Though her father may still be dying and her mother wasting away with grief by his side, Morgana’s razor sharp instincts told her that the brother she had never known was alive and well and much closer than they realised.

Ask any member of the family - Morgana’s instincts were very rarely wrong.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was an absolute ODESSY to write and I didn't really enjoy it very much until the end. It seems slow but it's actually super important. There's a little bit of sexy times in this chapter too. A very little bit. Just a forewarning. 
> 
> Apologies for any mistakes, I'll come back around and edit them once I screw my brain back into place. Please do feel free to point them out if you spot them! 
> 
> Also, thank you so much to everyone who has commented recently. There's a lot going on at home so I haven't had the chance to reply to them all and have rather fallen behind. Please know I'm so humbled by your love and how much you are enjoying my little story! <3

“This is fine work, Merlin,” Gaius smiled, his weathered old face creasing into a smile as he read the first draft article in his hand. “Very fine indeed. I may even go as far as to say it is some of your best. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you write so passionately.”

Flushing slightly, Merlin’s mouth quirked into a self-deprecating half smile.

“Really? You think so?” he asked. The unexpected praise from his notoriously difficult to please mentor made him sit a little straighter in his chair, his chest puffed out with pride. Gaius raised an eyebrow in a manner decidedly less threatening than usual.

“Yes, Merlin, I think so. I’ll send it to print in Monday’s issue. I was wondering if you’d like to do a few follow up pieces as well? Delve more deeply into the dark underbelly of homeless London, uncover just what it is that keeps these people on the streets. Perhaps do a follow up with this Arthur chap in, say, three to six months time to find out how he’s doing?”

For a moment Merlin cast his mind back to the worried text his mother had sent him early that morning to tell him Arthur had been awake most of the night scrubbing the entire B&B kitchen with a toothbrush. Hushing the pang of concern in his chest, his smile turned a little forced as he nodded.

“I’m sure I could just about manage that. Thank you, Gaius. For giving me the chance.”

The old man waved away his thanks, rolling his eyes as though fed up with the youth of today.

“Thank _you_ , Merlin, for doing your job for once. Now, get out of my office before I change my mind and put it through the shredder.”

—

In the first seven days of the new year, Arthur had ensured he kept his mind busy as much as possible. This was, of course, purely to ensure he did a good job for Hunith and not to avoid thinking about the terrifying and potentially life altering decision he had to make. With Merlin back at work and therefore at his own flat much of the time, sleeping alone in a state of high anxiety had caused Arthur’s nightmares to return full force - so much so, he was certain he’d slept barely seven hours in the last three nights.

Humming tunelessly, Arthur scrubbed at a collection of invisible limescale around the bottom of a bathroom tap. The sweat pooling under his t-shirt was more indicative of a march through the desert in full combat gear than cleaning a sink, and privately Arthur attributed this to the sheer strength of character it was taking to hold back the constantly rising swell of panic in his chest. Unbidden, the pale, drawn face of the king swam to the forefront of his mind. The previous evening a news report had shown one final short interview with the man who genuinely appeared to be at deaths door. The monarch seemed to all but plead for any news of his son. Even the tiniest crumb of information seemed to be enough to send him to his grave a happy man.

The image had kept Arthur awake, and so at two o’clock in the morning he had decided the entire B&B could benefit from a thorough scrub down. Hunith had found him at six with his head stuck in the oven, hacking furiously at a tiny piece of something burned onto the bottom.

Determined to enjoy his last few minutes of precious mindlessness, Arthur redoubled his efforts on the sparkling tap. He knew fine well that the moment Merlin arrived, he’d get a _look;_ a well intentioned stare from eyes bluer than a robin’s egg which would make his gut twist in guilt and force him into admitting the decision he’d come to subconsciously as he stared up at Buckingham Palace on new years day.

Below, a door slammed: Merlin had arrived. The jolt of excitement in Arthur’s stomach was pathetic, in his eyes - how could he possibly have missed that great, lolloping oaf so much? With a grin, he barrelled out of the en-suite and waited patiently at the top of the staircase, staring down at the top of the dark curly head with enough intensity to burn a hole in it. The tips of Merlin’s ears were pink from the cold as he leaned down to kiss his mother on the cheek where she sat at the reception desk, folding napkins for the dinner service.

Forever seeking attention, Arthur cleared his throat purposefully. Immediately Merlin turned to face him with a grin wider than the English Channel; the furrow of his brow seemed a little deeper than usual, poorly disguised worry carved into the lines of his face.

“Hello stranger,” smiled Arthur as Merlin ascended towards him, arms outstretched for a cuddle even while several metres away. He tried to smooth away any residual tension from his shoulders as Merlin gathered him to his chest, nuzzling his cold nose into the warmth of Arthur’s neck.

“Hi yourself,” came the muffled response. Hunith clucked fondly at them from where she sat watching, a great deal less subtly than she intended. “I’ve missed you.”

“If you were any more sickly sweet you’d give me toothache, honestly. Come here, you great lump,” Arthur griped, drawing Merlin’s face up for a fleeting peck on the lips - anything more would not be appropriate, given the guests milling up and down the corridor and in the lobby.

“I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not.”

“Nor am I, quite frankly.” Arthur paused, tearing his gaze from Merlin and looking instead at his mother, who quickly busied herself with typing absolutely nothing on the computer in front of her. “Do you mind if I take a break, Hunith?” Arthur called to her, smirking slightly at the over the top jolt of surprise she affected.

“What? No, of course not. You’re done for the day. Go and have some fun - and remember, tomorrow is your day off. I do not want to see your face until Sunday lunchtime, alright?”

“Yes, captain,” he chuckled, signalling a small salute before allowing Merlin to lead him up the winding stairs to the little attic flat to collect his things.

Within the hour, the pair were curled together on the bed in Merlin’s bedsit, an obscenely large pizza between them. Chewing thoughtfully on his fourth slice, the brunette pondered how best to broach the subject Arthur was so clearly avoiding.

“My boss loved the article,” he said simply, tossing his uneaten crust back into the box. Arthur, forever hungry, snaffled it immediately: the crust was his favourite part. “He said it was the best I’d ever written.”

The blonde’s face was immediately alight with blatant pride. “That’s amazing! I’m so glad I could help in a small way. You deserve the praise.” In an attempt to maintain his usual surly persona, Arthur schooled his features into a more suitably prickly arrangement, lest Merlin tease him for being soft. His boyfriend (and God, did _that_ feel good to consider) did laugh, although more gently than Arthur had expected.

“Thanks. He wants me to do a series to continue to raise awareness. He also wants me to follow up with you in a few months time to see how you’re getting on,” Merlin finished pointedly, raising one eyebrow in that piercing way of his. The light from the television carved stark shadows with his cheekbones, giving him a fay-like quality which stole the breath from Arthur’s lungs.

“Well,” he began, hoping Merlin could not feel the quickening of his pulse, “I think that, depending on the outcome of the next few days, this follow up could be very interesting indeed.”

There ensued a very pregnant pause, throughout which Arthur chewed meditatively and Merlin tried to catch his eye, unsure he had heard correctly.

“Is this you saying… sorry, what is it you’re saying?” Merlin asked, moving the pizza box out of Arthur’s reach and utterly ignoring his pitiful humph of irritation.

“I’m saying that even though all of this is probably unfounded nonsense, I’ll do it. I’ll get in contact with Scotland Yard. I’ll take them the photos and the letters and see what they make of them,” Arthur sighed, biting back a wince as Merlin grabbed his hand and squeezed it much too tightly in his excitement. His glee only bubbled over for a moment before Merlin checked himself and pressed his lips together to contain the barrage of questions eager to tumble forth.

“This is very exciting news,” Merlin said with a sage nod, his voice half an octave higher than usual with the effort of holding himself back. “Would you be needing any, uh, moral support?”

Arthur chuckled softly, leaning in to nudge Merlin’s forehead with his own.

“I’d love some, _uh, moral support_ , as you so eloquently phrased it. It’s not every day one just strolls into the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police and enquires whether one may in fact be a kidnapped royal.”

“The fact that you use ‘one’ as a first person pronoun should have been a dead giveaway from day dot that you are not a mere peasant like me,” Merlin laughed, darting forwards to kiss away Arthur’s reproving retort.

The blonde sighed into the kiss, mellowing immediately under the ministrations of Merlin’s clever mouth. Without a thought, he sank into it and raised a hand to tangle in the dark curls he’d developed a fascination for. A breathy exhale escaped the brunette as Arthur tugged lightly at the tresses between his fingers, a sound which he eagerly sought to consume by deepening the kiss.

“You are unfairly good at this, you know,” Merlin muttered as he hooked a leg over Arthur’s hip and tugged him closer, enjoying the smell of him - his aftershave, combined with some kind of earthiness and sweat.

“I’m unfairly good at everything,” replied Arthur, his mouth migrating south to graze his lips over the pulse currently pounding at Merlin’s jugular. “It is one of my many positive qualities.”

Merlin rolled his eyes as he hissed through his teeth, all at once feeling like his trousers were too tight and as though he would very much enjoy shedding his very skin in order to escape the heat coursing through him.

“I don’t suppose I could have the utmost privilege of sucking you off, your highness?” Merlin queried with an airy tone much belied by the embarrassingly needy gasp which followed.

Frowning, Arthur pulled away, his pupils blown so wide very little of his iris was visible. He worried his kiss swollen lower lip again, eyes scrunched in concern.

“What if it is true? What if they want me to give you up?” he asked in a small voice, sliding a palm around to cup the nape of Merlin’s neck possessively. The other man inwardly cursed himself - what a way to break the moment.

“As if I’d let them! We’re two sides of the same coin, you and I. A package deal,” Merlin replied. He placed his hand over Arthur’s heartbeat. “Whatever happens, don’t forget you have choices. Let’s just say for a moment that yes, this is all real. You are a prince, a future king - with no real political power, true, but with a public platform on which to initiate change. You may be destined to rule but you will _always_ have a choice… as to how you do it.”

With what appeared to be great personal effort, Arthur pondered the words. There was no denying that the world had moved on from the whole concept of ‘an heir and a spare’, and the most cursory of Wikipedia binges had informed him that both the queen and the princess were heavily involved ambassadors for LGBTQ+ charities. Was it ridiculous for a life without Merlin to be inconceivable at such an early stage in their relationship? Arthur felt the heat of Merlin’s palm against his sternum and decided no, it was not in the least ridiculous.

Merlin watched every single one of these thoughts flit across Arthur’s face with a patient smile; he could be such a solemn, introspective soul at times, every decision for consideration seeming to bring with it the weight of the world. Absentmindedly, he wiggled two fingers between the buttons of Arthur’s shirt to stroke the downy fair hair dusted between his pectorals. 

“I want to go first thing in the morning to get it out of the way. Will you be ready?”

“I will be if I can get my hands on you _right now_ \- I’ll need to be asleep before three if you want me up and out by eight.”

Arthur huffed out a surprised laugh against Merlin’s lips as he suddenly found himself flat on his back, Merlin’s nimble fingers working to undo the buttons of his shirt with far less finesse than the first time they’d shared this bed.

“I swear you don’t like me for my brain. You only want my - how was it you put it the other day? - my peachy bum?” he complained, already unbuckling Merlin’s belt buckle with one clumsy hand. Merlin sniggered as he moved to mouth at Arthur’s exposed collarbones.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You have many admirable qualities. My favourite just happens to be your arse… is that so wrong?”

“Many admirable qualities, you say? Do tell.”

The pair gasped in unison at that moment as their arousals brushed together for the first time, sending a buzz of pleasure crackling through them both like electricity.

Soon they were fully unclothed and stretched out side by side, their legs all a-tangle and their chests pressed flush.

“There are lots of lovely things about you, too,” Arthur murmured in a rare show of vocal tenderness. He snaked one huge hand between their bodies to slide around Merlin’s erection, encircling it loosely in his palm and smiling as Merlin’s lips parted with a soft ‘oh’. “Not that I’d ever admit it,” continued the blonde, beginning to move his hand at an almost painfully slow pace.

“Oh, go on,” Merlin gritted out. “I’d be fascinated to hear some of them.”

Making a great show of pouting in contemplation, Arthur continued to pump his fist with maddening casualness, all the while feigning obliviousness to the aborted hitching of Merlin’s hips.

“Your eyes, for starters. I think I liked them even before I liked you; your whole personality shines through them. And then your lips - fuck, that mouth. Your neck, your ears, your legs. I like your hands the most. Not just because they are _very_ good at making me come, but also because they’re always there to ground me when I need it. Your hands are like the physical embodiment of all of the best parts of you - your kindness, your skill for writing, your steadfastness, your selflessness…”

As he spoke, Arthur had drawn Merlin’s leg over his hip and, upon releasing his now throbbing prick, slipped a hand around to circle the outside of his hole. At once, Merlin sagged against him with an impatient little wiggle of his hips.

“You can’t say all of that and then tease me, you prat,” Merlin all but sobbed, gathering his lover into a sloppy kiss to hide the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Smiling, Arthur pressed his fingertips into Merlin’s flank.

“No, I suppose I can’t,” he muttered. “How do you want to do this? Let me give something back to you tonight. Please. Anything you want.” His voice was already more wrecked than he anticipated, but he was past the point of caring. Merlin’s worry had been palpable the entire week, even through his text messages, and so Arthur now made it his business to make him feel better in the only way he knew how.

Despite his talent for the written word, Merlin found himself voiceless, barely able to articulate the quiet whimper which lodged in the back of his throat as Arthur circled his entrance again. Trembling, the pale man hauled himself up onto all fours.

“I need you inside me,” he croaked. Before all of the words had even left Merlin’s lips, Arthur had the lube bottle in his hand. He wasted no time in coating his fingers liberally and then trickling some between the cleft of Merlin’s cheeks - the liquid was cold, and the brunette hissed when it hit his pale skin. Half-mad with impatience, Merlin pushed back against Arthur’s fingers the moment they touched him, desperate to be filled.

With soft reassurances and a steadying hand at the small of his back, Arthur soothed him into stillness, taking his time in gradually working one finger and then two inside his lover right to the knuckles. Silently thanking nature for his large hands, one crook was all it took for him to find his mark. Body tensing, Merlin folded forwards to plant his forehead against the mattress, a guttural moan rippling up from his chest as Arthur brushed his prostate again and again. A wanton jerk of his hips made his wishes known, and Arthur was only too happy to press a third thick digit into the tight heat.

Infuriatingly patient, Arthur continued to work his fingers as he raked his other hand up the expense of Merlin’s back. He climbed the protrusions of his spine and hunched forwards to lap tenderly at the divots bracketing his tailbone.

“Are you ready?” he breathed against Merlin’s ear. The other man’s only response was to catch him in a clumsy kiss as he pushed himself back up onto his palms with quaking arms. After claiming another searing kiss, Arthur fisted his own cock a few times before slipping on a condom, dousing himself in lube and positioning himself at Merlin’s entrance.

Inch by agonising inch, he eased himself inside, clutching Merlin’s hips hard enough to bruise. Merlin himself hummed in eagerness and pushed himself back with a pleased grunt as he felt the final inch of Arthur’s cock slip inside, burying him to the hilt. Seeing stars, Arthur stilled.

“You don’t have to be gentle with me,” Merlin gasped, rocking slightly and drawing a moan from his startled boyfriend. “I won’t break.”

This was all the encouragement Arthur needed. After a few shallow, experimental thrusts, he began to snap his hips with more abandon. Merlin’s keening was music to his ears, his muttered obscenities sweeter than any declaration of love. When Arthur reached one hand around to once again begin pulling at Merlin’s prick, the other man’s hands fisted in the duvet below him.

“Harder, Arthur,” he begged, reaching out to grasp the headboard.

Without needing to be told twice, the blonde used his powerful build to begin pounding his partner into the mattress wildly, his rhythm a mess as he stroked the twitching cock in his hand.

Unexpectedly, Merlin came with a strangled cry, the clenching of his arse bringing Arthur’s orgasm upon him much too quickly like a cresting wave.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_!” he grunted in time with his final thrusts, his fingers sticky with Merlin’s come. “I’m so sorry, I wanted that to last longer.”

His boyfriend reached a shaking hand around to pat sympathetically at his thigh when he stilled.

“Definitely my fault,” Merlin groaned. “I got to thinking about how many times in this last week I’ve wanked thinking of this very thing and I couldn’t stop myself.” He winced as Arthur withdrew, then flopped down onto his stomach completely irrespective of the semen staining the duvet below him.

Discarding the condom, Arthur chortled and settled down onto his back, arms folded behind his head. He watched as Merlin army crawled closer to rest his chin on his chest, looking up at him with heavy eyes.

“I do love you, you know,” said Arthur, fixing his gaze on the ceiling.

“I do know. As I love you,” Merlin replied. “Come on, you clotpole. Let’s get cleaned up and get to bed. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow!”

“Sounds like a good - wait, what the fuck is a _clotpole?”_

—

The following morning, a loud knocking roused Igraine from her slumber. She glanced at the clock - it was past eleven. She’d always struggled with rising in the mornings, a fact Uther teased her relentlessly for, but she rarely slept this late. Something had been troubling her throughout the night; some expectant sensation in the pit of her stomach that she couldn’t quite name.

The knocking came again, more insistent this time. The queen rolled her eyes - unless this was some well meaning staff member with a tray of breakfast pastries, she could think of no excuse for anyone to be haranguing her so. Unless, of course, the persistent feeling in her gut was actually a forewarning of something dreadful. Uther.

Leaping to her feet, she crossed to the door in moments, golden curls sticking up at all angles as she wrenched it open. It was not a member of the kitchen staff, as she had hoped, nor one of the nurses, as she had feared. It was Derek, the royal aide, with a folder of papers clutched tightly in his trembling hands. He looked pale as death.

“Derek? What’s wrong?” She queried, ushering him inside and over to her little couch like a well intentioned whirlwind. The mousy little man blinked up at her from behind his milk bottle thick spectacles.

“We’ve just had a call from Scotland Yard, ma’am. They sent over documents - photographs - all sorts. Well, as I live and breathe, I never thought…”

Igraine’s stomach gave a jolt, and she fell to her knees in front of the man in her employ.

“What did they say? Do they have a suspect in custody? Tell me, Derek. Is my son dead?”

Derek’s face split into a disbelieving smile as he handed her the folder. Upon a perfunctory inspection, it seemed to be filled with photographs of her baby in the arms of strangers, and a couple of hand written letters.

“No, ma’am. If this young man is to be believed, he had no knowledge of - well, please don’t get your hopes up just yet, that’s why I came straight to you and not the king - they’re performing a DNA test this afternoon, if you’ll consent to give a sample for comparison - ”

“God, man, out with it!”

“Your majesty… it seems, by some miracle, the prince may have been found.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this chapter. Arthur meets his mum and gets the cuddle he so desperately needs. Again, please flag any mistakes/errors and I'll see to them!

A discordant, atonal harmony of humming set Merlin’s teeth on edge as he balanced precariously on the precipice of his plastic seat. Somehow he had expected the waiting rooms of Scotland Yard to be more exciting; he felt almost disappointed by the bog standard coffee machine (which charged ten pence a cup, naturally), dog eared magazines and the air conditioning unit stuck on cool. Teeth chattering, he squinted across the room to where Arthur was pacing back and forth, nails chewed to the quick. The cacophony of noise which had been initiated by their arrival had lessened somewhat, although a distant chaotic din was still faintly audible at the other end of the corridor.

The buzzing of the strip lighting overhead ricocheted around Merlin’s brain like a swarm of angry wasps, and he felt a pounding beginning behind his eyes - bright lights tended to trigger migraines in him, especially at the most inconvenient of times.

“Sit down, love,” Merlin murmured, inwardly cringing at the unintentional endearment which Arthur would doubtlessly scoff at. Surprisingly, the blonde instead sloped across, his shoulders tense, and took Merlin’s proffered hand in his own clammy palm. Arthur settled down next to him, seemingly unable to stop the jiggling of his right leg.

“I don’t see why they have to keep me here - they’ve taken a DNA sample, and they told me it’d take at least two days to get the results back. I’ve given them everything and told them what little I know. Do they think I’m a criminal?” Arthur asked sullenly, toeing at a mark on the carpet like an ill-tempered toddler. Merlin sighed - they’d re-hashed this question several times in the hour they’d been cooped up in this little room.

“They probably have more questions to ask. I don’t think it’s really the done thing for people to just turn up here, you know. It’s not like a normal police station.”

“Yeah, so I gathered when the woman at the front desk almost had a heart attack when I told her why we were here.”

“They’ve potentially just closed a twenty seven year old cold case - give them some credit!” Sighing again, Merlin turned slightly to nuzzle into Arthur’s neck. The blonde shivered as the cold tip of Merlin’s nose brushed his earlobe, and then relaxed infinitesimally when a chaste kiss was brushed beneath his jaw.

“No matter what happens, it’s all going to be fine,” Merlin said, the rush of his breath a comforting warmth on Arthur’s skin.

Igraine watched from the doorway, afraid to announce her presence lest she interrupt their moment. The two young men within the room had not yet noticed her, nor had they spotted the looming figures of her personal security detail where they hovered a few feet away. They seemed entirely consumed with each other, and she found herself consumed by them also. Particularly by the blonde, who had her father’s nose and her own elegant hands.

Gently, warmth blossomed in her chest and unfurled not unlike a rose bursting into full bloom. She had not expected to feel such a deep rooted certainty that this boy - no, this fine young man - was the son she had longed for.The cut of his jaw, the proud way he held himself, the broad shoulders that spoke so of his father. There was little doubt in her mind that this man was indeed her precious Arthur.

The queen sighed softly, and both men turned their heads towards her. Startled, the dark haired man found his voice first - the sudden widening of his eyes confirming that he had indeed recognised her, although Arthur’s gaze still seemed bleary. In truth, he looked exhausted. Jumping to his feet, the brunette dropped his head in a small, neat bow.

“Your majesty,” he said, tone tight with surprise. “My name is Merlin. This is - ” Merlin stopped mid introduction as Arthur finally raised himself to standing. Igraine registered the way he clung to Merlin’s wrist for support, swaying a little where he stood.

“Arthur,” he finished, his voice a deep rumble. It reverberated in his chest like the thundering of an oncoming storm. A good voice, Igraine noted. A strong voice. “My name is Arthur.”

Arthur regarded the woman before him with a kind of tentative hopefulness he hadn’t dared to feel up until this point. God, but did she look like him. He could see himself in the little wrinkles which appeared when she smiled: the joy upon her face made her radiant, and the blue oceans that were her eyes swept him closer unbidden.

Petite hands came to rest upon his shoulders, and the queen looked up at him through fawn coloured lashes.

“You certainly do look like you could be my son,” she said, her voice molten and rich. Her front tooth was slightly crooked, just as Arthur’s was. Arthur smiled despite himself, wishing Merlin was still close enough to use as a crutch.

“Do you really think this could be true?” he queried, searching her face for signs of doubt. “It all just seems so impossible.”

“I can think of a way to find out, Come, let’s sit,” Igraine replied, ushering him back to his chair and sitting opposite the pair. Apparently aware she had not acknowledged Merlin’s greeting, Igraine bestowed him with a beatific smile which he readily returned. As if on reflex, Arthur reached for Merlin’s hand again, weaving their fingers together as he leaned forward to continue the conversation. The sight gladdened her heart and broadened her smile still further.

“The police already took DNA samples, but they said it wouldn’t be ready for a few days. I hadn’t even considered they’d have contacted you, but of course - you had to give a sample too, didn’t you? Thank you for consenting to that - I’m so sorry if I’ve put you through this for nothing.”

Igraine waved away the preemptive apology. “I don’t think we have to wait for the DNA test - I have a simple question which will solve our little quandary in no time,” she grinned. For all she looked happy and expectant, a sheen of sweat had begun to collect on her brow, despite the chill of the room.

“Ask away,” Arthur said, his heart sinking. He fully expected her to ask a question he could not answer; to root out the fact that he was trying to swindle her or break her heart all over again.

Next to him, Merlin tensed, clutching Arthur’s hand more tightly than strictly necessary. It seemed he was as anxious as Arthur about what would follow the queen’s next words. Igraine studied him astutely for a moment before speaking.

“My son was taken from me when he was only a few days old, but I remember everything about him. I remember the way he smelled, I remember his clever little fingers - and I remember his birth mark. My little Arthur had a mole on his abdomen. It was on the right hand side, a couple of inches above his belly button. It was about an inch across. Oval shaped. Do you have a mark like that, Arthur?”

Her gaze turned pleading as she started to fiddle nervously with the ring on her right forefinger: the same ring as the one he’d noticed in the photograph. Arthur felt Merlin’s eyes on the side of his face, the realisation of what he was about to say creeping up his spine like cats paws.

“I do,” he said softly, standing once again and carefully untucking his shirt to reveal his stomach. On the left side of his abdomen was the scar he so hated, pale and raised and painful to recall. It was mirrored on the right by the small, oval mole he’d never really considered before.

The silence which fell was deafening, the queen - his _mother_? - staring fixedly at the mark upon his skin. Her eyes flicked to the scar and for a moment she seemed as though she would question it, before clearly thinking better of it. Now was not the time. Arthur let his shirt fall and was across the room in three strides, allowing himself be gathered willingly into the woman’s open arms. She embraced him tightly, her tears already soaking his chest. Burying his face into her hair, Arthur inhaled her scent and smelled safety, and home, and the encasing comfort of knowing this was the woman who had carried him and laboured to give him life. Before long, Arthur found he was crying right along with her.

Merlin watched the unfolding events with warring emotions. On one hand, he really should leave, give them some privacy - even the two man mountain bodyguards had removed themselves to the hallway, standing either side of the closed door like club bouncers. On the other, Arthur had just pulled away a fraction and appeared to be looking round for him, the tear tracks on his flushed cheeks pulling Merlin in like a magnet.

“Merlin,” he choked, sliding a hand to the back of Merlin’s neck as he nodded to the tearful queen. “Merlin, this is my _mum_!”

With a delighted laugh, the brunette happily accepted the sloppy, overjoyed kiss Arthur pressed to his mouth, too delirious with secondhand jubilation to ponder the woman’s reaction. Arthur seemed to consider this too, and turned to the queen with a slackened jaw, suddenly worried.

“You can’t imagine how delighted I am that you have someone who makes you so happy,” she said simply, keeping one hand on Arthur’s shoulder and raising the other to cradle Merlin’s cheek. “This. This is what I have dreamed of for so long. You can’t possibly understand, I - here. Come, both of you, we’re going to tea.”

—

All of Merlin’s violent protests fell on deaf ears. Igraine - which she insisted he call her, on the grounds of being her ‘new son in law’, a statement which made Arthur’s cheeks flush and Merlin’s neck heat - had insisted he come with them for afternoon tea in her private nook at The Savoy. She had gaily declared today the best of her life, and left one of her men to put the fear of God into the staff at Scotland Yard, all the better to hurry their results along.

“Today, you’re mine,” she giggled like a girl, looking every inch the queen even in her casual denims, pretty blouse and winter boots. “I don’t want to tell anyone else until we have the DNA results in our hands - they’ll try and talk me back from the edge or some such nonsense. So for now, tell me all, tell me everything!”

Merlin gawped openly, overawed and agog at the palatial opulence around him. He’d walked past The Savoy countless times, and been to the lovely art deco theatre next door, but had never thought to ever set foot in the place itself. Next to him, Arthur, too, seemed to be struggling slightly. Rhythmically, he tapped the tip of each finger of his right hand to the tip of his thumb, going back and forth as though practicing scales on the piano. Under the table, Merlin gave Arthur’s thigh a reassuring squeeze; the blonde smiled weakly in response. Merlin didn’t blame him for being overwhelmed: meeting your mother for the first time as an adult was challenging enough, but her being a queen and you subsequently being royalty certainly added new levels of pressure to the situation.

The queen had noticed her sons reticence, and seemed happy to strive blithely onward, prattling about something and nothing until the slope of his shoulders seemed to relax.

“So, Merlin,” she smiled, pouring tea from a china pot as though she did things like this every day. “Tell me a little about yourself. What do you do?”

Laughing, Merlin added a sugar cube to his cup and began to stir as carefully as possible; the floral patterned crockery was so delicate it appeared as though a gentle breeze would be enough to crack it.

“I’m worried you may not like the answer very much,” he admitted, catching Arthur’s eye and earning a knowing smirk. “Arthur certainly didn’t, to begin with. I’m a journalist,” he finished apologetically, half expecting to be patted down for recording devices and then ejected from the room.

“He’s a very nice journalist,” Arthur interjected, coming to Merlin’s rescue when he spotted Igraine’s raised eyebrow. “The fact they exist was a surprise to me, too.”

“Oh, shut it,” sighed Merlin, laughing again and snapping the sugar tongs playfully in Arthur’s direction.

Igraine watched them banter for a moment before replying. “You seem like a good sort to me. If Arthur trusts you, then I do too. I can’t speak for everyone else at the palace, but - well, you’ll find that out soon enough. How long have you been together? You seem very well matched.” 

“We haven’t been together very long at all - we only met at the start of December, if you’d believe that. Merlin, uh… He helped me out of a sticky spot. Let’s leave it at that for now. We just sort of… understood each other, if that makes sense? Then we actually got together around Christmas.”

“Yeah, the ol’ meet cute wasn’t quite so cute, in this case. Definitely a story for another day,” Merlin agreed as he took a sip of his tea. It really was delicious - perhaps he could snaffle some to take home to his own mum. Igraine looked surprised at the revelation, her brows now rising so quickly they almost appeared to levitate.

“Really? Goodness! You seem so in tune with each other!” She smiled, gesturing between them as they leaned back in unison, each balancing their chin on their upturned left palm. “I doubt you’ve noticed, but you’ve been mirroring each other since the moment we sat down. It really is the sweetest thing.”

“Good God, we’re disgusting,” groaned Arthur in despair, throwing his head back to laugh at exactly the time Merlin did the same. The men seemingly stuck in an endless loop of copying each other, Arthur, Merlin and then Igraine dissolved into fits of giggles which drew inquisitive glances from the nearby wait staff.

The trio passed the next two hours in companionable conversation, Arthur growing less anxious and more confident by the minute. For a moment he withdrew from the conversation and simply looked between the people on either side of him, stunned into silence.

Barely more than a month ago he’d had nothing. He’d been certain he would continue to have nothing for the rest of what was sure to be a miserably short existence. A swelling of melancholy filled his chest for the man he’d been then. He’d been so, so close to giving up entirely - freezing to death on a doorstep had seemed like a welcome escape from a life in which no-one cared whether he lived or died.

Now here he sat, still thinner than he should be and still prone to distrusting strangers, flanked by a man he adored to his very bones and mother he’d never expected to have. He had a home, he had a family, he had friends. Titles, money, large houses - they all meant nothing, and truly the implications of how turbulent his immediate future would be had been held at bay by Igraine’s maternal clucking. All that really mattered was the fact that he was worth something after all, even if only in the eyes of those seated at the table with him.

Arthur felt Merlin’s fingertips come to rest on his forearm, and met his eyes with a look which conveyed all he had been thinking. Merlin responded with a knowing quirk of his lips, nodding wordlessly to the extra slice of cake he’d slipped onto Arthur’s plate.

“Are you trying to fatten me up? Are you sure you’d love me, even when you have to add more holes to my belt?” he smiled thinly, blinking back the happy tears which threatened to spill over into his rapidly cooling tea. Merlin tutted.

“No fear on that account. I’ll still love you when you’re so old and fat you have to be rolled from one end of your palace to the other,” the brunette responded, shoving a fork into Arthur’s waiting hand and winking conspiratorially at Igraine. They had lapsed into an easy familiarity which made Arthur’s heart ache, and he took a bite of cake just to make his contorted expression less obvious.

“And I suppose I’ll still love you when you’ve run yourself ragged for so long that you’re little more than a walking papercut, all sharp edges and thin as a rake. You’re like a whippet on crack as it is,” Arthur muttered around his mouthful, thrilling to hear the combined laughter of his mother (his _mother_!) and his lover like the sweetest symphony to his ears.

“Now, really, is that any way for a prince of the realm to speak?” Merlin chided playfully, tilting his head with a guileless smile.

“Ah yes. I do keep forgetting about that bit,” Arthur said, swallowing thickly and looking to Igraine. “How much of this,” he paused, gesturing between himself and Merlin, “will have to change? Is it… acceptable? I don’t want to cause friction. I never expected _any_ of this, so if I have to stay in the background, so be it. The most important thing is that I don’t lose either of you.”

Arthur found Merlin’s hand on the tabletop and gave a squeeze. No force in heaven or earth would part him from his newly restored mother, but a life of money and comfort held no draw if it meant losing Merlin. Igraine added her own hand atop theirs, dwarfed by their huge palms. She fixed them both with a grim stare, looking between them intently.

“I am not going to lie to either of you. If this is what you want, it’s going to be hard. You have my full support, and I know Morgana will stand by you, as will the king while their is still breath in his body. But don’t underestimate the fact that there are more - how can I put this delicately? - conservative members of the family who will prove harder to win around. Your birthright is incredibly important, Arthur, and I will fight until the day I die if I have to to ensure that you have it, but the path you have chosen won’t be a smooth one.

“You have my blessing already. Lord knows, you had it before I even spoke to you. I have only known you for a few hours but I am certain of two things. Firstly, you two are meant for each other: two halves of the same whole. I’d say it’s probably evident to anyone with eyes. Secondly, you have the ability to be a great king, Arthur, if you so chose.”

Arthur had the sensation of the very breath being stolen from his lungs as his eyes flitted between the two faces turned towards him. They each smiled at him, unabashed, unafraid love evident in every line of their faces and every pore of their skin. He knew that no matter what challenges were to come - of which he had no doubt there would be many - he could face it all, with them at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now let's see what other chaos ensues, shall we?


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I hit a bit of a wall this week, apologies. Hope this chapter is worth the wait. <3 
> 
> P.S. This story became so damn complicated in comparison to the little fleeting idea I had over a year ago, so apologies if updates are a little more spaced out from here on out. I'd like to avoid plot holes as much as humanly possible! I'm afraid I've gone a bit Steven Moffat on myself...

Arthur was sweating. His shirt clung uncomfortably to the small of his back, and rivulets of nervous perspiration trickled down the nape of his neck to pool at his collar. Next to him, Igraine chattered on vivaciously about how he could decorate his own apartments in the palace and in Clarence House, which was to be his official residence - apparently, all of this had been discussed without his knowledge the moment the king had been presented with the DNA results, which had proved Arthur was indeed the lost prince.

Without thinking, Arthur reached out for his mothers hand, which the she offered gladly. They paused in the middle of the corridor and looked at one another intently.

“I know this is a huge upheaval, and there are still so many things to get to the bottom of, but…we can keep this private. All of it - we don’t have to announce anything to anybody until you are ready. The most important thing now is that you feel like you are part of this family,” Igraine smiled, reaching her free hand up to cradle her sons cheek. Arthur’s answering grimace made the queen laugh lightly as she thumbed across his fine cheekbone.

“I’m about to meet the _king_ ,” Arthur muttered. His feet shuffled back and forth across the thick pile of the carpet, too ill at ease to stay still. Igraine smiled at him again, and Arthur focused his gaze on that instead of inward towards the roiling of his stomach.

“You’re about to meet your _father_ ,” she corrected, “I must remind you that he’s very sick. He has cancer, Arthur, and it is very resistant to treatment. Meeting you is the one shining light left in his life.”

The knowledge that he would get very little time with his father triggered an unpleasant swoop of dread in Arthur’s gut - every fibre of his being wanted to get to know this man, to find out just how alike they were, to find out what made him laugh and cry and just why he thought his sons kidnapping was a personal slight. All he could do now was cling to the vain hope that there would be time enough for at least this.

As his mother the queen continued to lead him towards a set of exquisitely polished teak doors, Arthur chanced a glance out of the window. Before him, stretched London. The length of The Mall was truly intimidating from this angle, and being confronted by the hordes of tourists outside the gates gave life to a sudden urge to run away and never look back. He wished Merlin was here to keep him steady.

As if by magic, the doors ahead opened and Arthur followed Igraine through them, valiantly ignoring the two step rhythm his heart hammered behind his ribs as though desperate to escape. Impeccably dressed footmen bowed as they entered, and Arthur fought off a furious blush before his eyes landed on the frail, ashen faced man on the low sofa. The king stood surprisingly quickly as their gazes met, a frisson of familiarity passing between them. With sure, steady strides, Uther Pendragon crossed to where his son stood frozen, and extended a hand.

“Arthur,” he said, his voice cool and crisp as autumn leaves.

Unsure of protocol, Arthur dipped his head in a stiff bow. “Your majesty.” He clasped the withered hand within his strong one, careful not too squeeze too hard. Uther chuckled softly, searching Arthur’s face with unblushing eagerness.

“Please, my boy. You are my son, the Prince of Wales and possibly even future king of this country. You bow to no-one, not even me. Let’s all sit, shall we? Princess Morgana - that is to say, your sister - she will be joining us in a moment. I expect we’ll hear her before we see her.”

Igraine, one hand on Arthur at all times, guided him to a plush looking armchair and motioned for him to sit down.

Arthur had the distinct sensation that his heart had crawled up his throat and taken up residence in his mouth; he felt like it was lodged behind his teeth in yet another traitorous attempt to ditch him and make for the hills, and he swallowed thickly around his nerves.

“Igraine tells me you were in the army?” Uther ventured, reclining against the cushions with a sigh. He looked somewhat diminished, small against the high back of the settee. Thankful to have immediately settled upon a topic he could discuss at length and with vigour if he had to, Arthur nodded with a proud jut of his jaw.

“I was indeed. I served for as long as I could before I was invalided out.”

“You were wounded?”

“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t be sitting here now if not for a friend who saved my life. I owe him everything.”

“You shall tell me the whole story at some point, I hope?” Uther’s eyes flashed, and Arthur saw a plan beginning to form in his mind. The sight made the blonde grin and sit a little more easily in his chair. Igraine flickered her gaze back and forth between the two men, appearing to be on the verge of elated tears.

“I’d be happy to, soon.”

“Wonderful. Would you - ”

“Is he here?”

Their conversation was cut off as a young woman came crashing into the room, her black hair escaping from the loose braid in which it was wound.

Immediately, Arthur stood, opening his arms as if offering himself up for appraisal. Morgana’s harried face split into a beaming smile and she covered the distance between them in three long strides before hauling him in for a clumsy cuddle. It took little thought for Arthur to gather her close and reciprocate her tight embrace - her arms encircled him so ferociously that the breath was all but stolen from his lungs, but Arthur found he rather didn’t mind.

“It’s you!” the princess cried, tilting her face upwards with her eyebrows raised in obvious surprise and delight. “The soldier I spilled my precious coffee on!”

“Yes, and I got hauled over the coals for that one! If only I’d known then what I know now!”

Morgana, Arthur realised, was magnificently easy to talk to and banter with. The wicked glint in her eye he’d seen during their snatched conversation years previously seemed to twinkle on, renewed with a vengeance now that it was directed at someone she could call kin. She took in the sight of her brother for a further moment before releasing him and plopping cross legged onto the floor.

“What have I missed?” she asked, reaching one delicate hand forwards to snag a biscuit from the plate in the centre of the coffee table. Arthur watched her fondly, and let his eyes trail curiously over the three people sitting before him. He had something of them all, he realised, whether it be Igraine’s looks, Morgana’s humour or Uther’s bearing. The thought made him oddly proud.

“Your father was just grilling poor Arthur about his time in the military,” Igraine laughed.

“I was not _grilling_ him, I was _asking_ him!”

“Well, we do have a lot to learn about each other, and we may as well start before those vultures at Scotland Yard come swooping around, asking about Uncle Aggravaine and poking into all our business,” Morgana sighed, finally freeing her hair completely so that it fell in a silky curtain to her waist. Arthur raised an eyebrow, the name ringing a bell.

“Aggravaine? He was mentioned in the letter I was left - is he being questioned?” he asked, leaning forward with intense interest. Igraine pursed her lips, a sight which told Arthur in no uncertain terms that, lovely as she may be, his mother was not a woman to anger. Rage seemed to boil within her, and she all but vibrated with it.

“He has not been questioned as of yet, but he will be. He’s rather gone to ground, I’m afraid, but they’ll smoke him out. I’m not sure if you know, Arthur, but Nimueh died a very long time ago. My brother - ” The queen paused, rolling the word around her mouth like a particularly unpleasant morsel “ - is the only person left who can tell us what happened.”

“Do you think he will?”

“Oh, he will,” muttered Uther, a threatening cast passing over his face for the briefest of moments.

From here the conversation progressed naturally. They skimmed the surface of Arthur’s life, slotting him effortlessly into place within their unit at every turn as though there had simply been a gap waiting for him to step into for the past twenty seven years. They shared their favourite films, music, books, and laughed openly about the fact they all had a penchant for pickled onion crisps. Somewhat reluctantly, Arthur broached the subject of his previous homelessness, sinking back into his chair with a squirm in his gut as he awaited their horrified, upper class reactions. To his surprise, rather than turning up their noses and calling for a maid to scrub the areas he’d touched, the trio that made up his closest relations regarded him respectfully, thoughtfully. Morgana enquired gently as to how he’d managed to get off the streets, and Arthur finally allowed himself to tell them of Merlin.

“There was - a man,” he began, casting a meaningful glance in his mother’s direction, “a man who helped me. He took me in, cleaned me up, got me a job - he and his friends and his mother saved my life, they really did. He’s the kindest, warmest, most infuriating person I know.”

This earned him a laugh, and he ducked his head sheepishly to hide the goofy grin which had worked its way onto his face. When he continued, Arthur’s tone was soft.

“The queen - I mean, Igraine - I mean, _mother -_ has already met him. His name is Merlin, and he’s… he’s my… he’s the love of my life, I suppose,” Arthur finished lamely. He scratched his nails back and forth over his fabric covered thighs to avoid having to look at the king, half afraid he was about to be cast out on his ear.

“That’s settled then,” Uther said simply. “Bring him to dinner. I should very much like to meet him. What does he do?”

Arthur’s head snapped up at this, and he caught Morgana’s eye at the same time as Igraine began to fill her husband in about Merlin’s profession and the privacy forms he’d already agreed to sign. An unspoken pact seemed to form between the siblings as their parents spoke animatedly, both in solid agreement to protect poor Merlin with their lives when he was inevitably backed into a conversational corner across the pea soup. The light of mischief once again sparked in Morgana’s eyes, although it had a twinkle of kindness to it which appeased the pounding of blood in Arthur’s ears.

He could do this, he realised. Time passed quickly and easily like this, and he found his heart gladdened by the colour that seemed to return to his father’s face with every minute which ticked by. There was no denying the king was ailing, but perhaps they would have time after all - time to discuss not only their personal lives, but to muddle through the mess of succession and such like. Morgana was blatant with her apathy when it came to taking the throne, and seemed only too glad that her big brother had come along to spare her from it. The thought made Arthur’s heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wing. It was all very nice to joke about, but what did he really know about being a king? He simply had to hope there would be time for him to learn.

It was only when Uther began to visibly flag that Arthur decided to excuse himself. Apparently to his own surprise as much as anyone else’s, the king drew his son into a firm one armed hug before ruffling his hair with a warm smile. His parting words urged Arthur to return as soon as possible with Merlin in tow, a promise which the blonde readily consented to before following Morgana through the labyrinthine passages towards the private entrance where a car would collect him. They chatted idly as they walked, exchanging phone numbers and witty barbs back and forth as though they’d been in this rhythm for years.

When they reached the doorway Morgana stood on her tiptoes to gather him into a much less violent hug than before, leaving her hands upon his shoulders as she said her goodbyes.

“Dinner on Saturday night, yes? Bring this lovely young man of yours - can I see a photo before you leave?” she asked slyly, her tongue poking between her teeth. Laughing in exasperation, Arthur flipped through the pictures on his phone with the screen turned away from his sisters enquiring gaze; there were definitely some images on here which were meant only for his eyes. Finally, he settled upon a very daft selfie they’d taken on Sunday morning, grinning like idiots in the unseasonable sunshine which streamed in to greet them before breakfast.

“Do _not_ swipe. In _either_ direction,” Arthur warned as Morgana snatched the phone from his hand with a delighted screech. She levelled a filthy sneer at him, tutting.

“Are you trying to tell me the Prince of bloody Wales has dirty pictures of his boyfriend on his iPhone? The scandal!”

“Maybe the Prince of bloody Wales has dirty pictures of _himself_ on his iPhone, is that enough of an incentive to stay on that one photo?” Arthur shot back, lips quirking into an unwilling smirk of his own. Morgana tossed her head back and all but cackled.

“I’m betting it’s both, but don’t tell the Prince of bloody Wales I’ve figured it out,” she chuckled, before turning more earnestly to look at Merlin’s face. “Oooh, a hot journalist, indeed! Very handsome! He looks wonderful. I can’t wait to meet him, especially if he’s as special as you say.”

“Yeah, he’s pretty fucking exceptional. Just - don’t tell him I said that, please. He’ll only get insufferable about it.”

“It’s a very brave thing you’re about to do, you know,” Morgana began, just as a sleek black sedan pulled up outside. She gave the driver a small wave, before continuing. “To be honest I think your other half could have been a damned _seal_ and father would have welcomed them into the family, just to keep you close. We’ve never had an openly LGBTQ+ royal before; you’re going to face challenges, both of you. Just don’t forget that you have us now, and we’re with you every step of the way. I’ll never admit this again after tonight, but… well, I’m already proud to call you my brother.”

The princess gave her brother’s hand a squeeze and shoved him out into the night.

—

“They’ve invited me to _dinner_?” Merlin squawked, his hair taking on an even more flyaway appearance than normal as he looked between his lover and his mother for some sign that he was hallucinating. Hunith laughed into her mashed potato, determined to take no part in the impending breakdown of civility.

“Yes, Merlin. It’s the meal we’re currently eating, actually, traditionally served after luncheon and before - ”

“Oh, shut up, prince prat!” Merlin sniped, pinging a forkful of peas at Arthur which spattered him in the face with surprising force. The blonde pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.

“That’s treason, you know. I’m afraid it’s the Tower for you, lad,” he sighed, feigning a melancholy air. Merlin affected a somewhat convincing swoon, mainly to duck the balled up napkin Arthur had just cannonballed at his head.

“You’re abusing your position as royalty, you know.”

“Lies, all lies, I tell you! Lies and slander!”

“I shall take this matter to the press!”

“ _Mer_ lin, you are the press.”

“Oh. Quite right.”

The pair lapsed into giggles, tangling their feet together under the table in a furious kicking match. Hunith levelled her gaze at them the moment a stray flail made contact with her shin, and they immediately sat up straight, eyes downcast.

“If you’re going to behave like a pair of children, go and do it somewhere else. We’ll do the dishes tomorrow. _Boys_ ,” she added under her breath with a fond shake of the head as they gambolled from the room.

Minutes later they were ensconced on the couch, Merlin’s head pillowed in Arthur’s lap. The brunette’s eyelashes fluttered drowsily as the blonde combed tender fingers through his fringe, humming thoughtfully.

“Are you nervous?” Merlin asked. Arthur looked down at him, perplexed.

“Nervous about what?”

“About all of it. I must say, you’re coping exceptionally well.”

With a feeble smile, Arthur shook his head. “Oh, I’m absolutely bricking it. Completely and utterly. There were a couple of points today when I genuinely thought I might be sick all over the Turkish rug.”

“What an image,” grunted Merlin, scowling up at his lover.

“Yeah, that would have looked great, wouldn’t it? I just don’t think it’s sunk in yet, you know? For all I’m being ferried around by black cars and shit, they’re just people. They’re my family.”

“And you don’t think the whole thing will really hit home until you’re introduced to the public and have ten thousand flashbulbs going off in your face, calling your personality, motives and sexuality into question? Yeah, I get that.”

Arthur’s pulse stuttered underneath Merlin’s fingertips, the glaze of his eyes a confirmation that yes, these things were indeed weighing heavily on his mind. The blonde’s voice was roughened with anxiety when he spoke, catching in his throat as though on invisible hooks.

“I just don’t want to disappoint anybody,” he murmured, turning his eyes skywards to find patterns in the ceiling tiles. “There is so much I have to learn, and then I have to leave here and adjust to a whole new living setup _again_ , and I know that not everyone is going to be as kind as my parents and my sister. More than anything else, I don’t want to hurt you, you cretin. As much as it pains me to say it, you mean everything to me and I don’t want you to turn into some kind of Princess Diana figure in a leather jacket and battered Doc Martens.”

Snorting at the image, Merlin struggled upright to slot himself against Arthur’s shoulder, nosing affectionately at the underside of his jaw.

“I don’t have the legs to be Diana,” he grouched. “And anyway, I’m a journo. I can play them at their own game, don’t worry about me.”

“Promise me one thing,” sighed Arthur, snagging the remote control from Merlin and scrolling idly through Netflix as he spoke, warmed along one side by the insistent press of the body next to him.

“Anything, as always,” Merlin responded lightly, tone straightforward and matter-of-fact.

“I’m definitely going to freak out at some point, yeah? So please, please, _please_ don’t _you_ freak out just because _I’m_ having a meltdown.”

“I’m not sure that was English, love. But sure thing, whatever you say. I’ll just be there to hold your hand, as always.”

"Always? You promise?" 

"I promise. We cool?"

“We're cool.”

Contented, they lapsed into silence, focused only on the episode of Fawlty Towers on the screen comfort they brought each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm basically basing Uther's character in this story on the assumption that, had Igraine not died, he would be less of a terrible human being. Also yes, Morgana is Arthur's full sister, purely because I already had enough to deal with plot wise without incorporating an affair for someone who was a minor character at the time. x


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I say every chapter, thank you so much for the kudos, comments, bookmarks etc. I've gotten out of sync with replying now and I don't quite know where to start with it so please know that every single email from AO3 makes me do a a literal, actual happy dance. My flatmates have started to worry about me. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> P.S. I just realised I've totally been picturing Merlin as Colin's character in The Fall in this fic, so... enjoy that image. The clothes and the stubble and the hair and just YES. Go Google Tom Anderson if you don't know what I'm talking about. You can thank me later.

“This is an absolutely bloody appalling idea, I hope you know that,” Merlin croaked, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt until Arthur slapped his hands away. “Christ on a cracker, why am _I_ of all people in Buckingham Palace? I’m going to accidentally spill gravy on the king and end up being tried for treason!”

Arthur rolled his eyes as he delivered a sharp flick to the back of Merlin’s head. Even as the upward cut of his hand delivered chastisement, the downward stroke smoothed the now displaced inky curls in apology. Arthur pressed a light kiss to his lover’s fashionably stubbled cheek.

“Will you calm down please? They invited you! As long as you don’t turn out to be a raging anti-monarchist - well done, incidentally, if you are and have managed to hide it for this long - and don’t try to incite any rebellions, we’ll be fine,” Arthur laughed, heart swooping at the beaming grin Merlin turned in his direction, mirth draining some of the stress from behind his eyes.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“If you love me at all, you will just relax and be your usual idiotic and irritatingly charming self.”

“You’re lucky I do like you quite a bit, then.”

“Just like?”

Merlin hummed in amusement against Arthur’s lips as the blonde pressed their mouths together, sliding his hands to rest on Arthur’s broad shoulders atop the navy blue blazer he wore, while Arthur’s own wrapped possessively around his waist.

An almost inaudible cough broke them apart; a polite clearing of the throat which sounded from the other end of the corridor. Merlin turned to find himself faced with a pale faced beauty, long raven hair to her waist and striking features which would not look out of place on the front cover of a magazine. The wicked smirk quirking her red tinted lips betrayed her identity, even if he hadn’t seen her in the papers a thousand times beforehand. She was, without a doubt, the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Merlin realised stunning good looks must run in the family.

“Hello, brother mine,” Princess Morgana grinned. She strode down the corridor as though it were a catwalk and she was clad in the finest haute couture as opposed to cigarette trousers and a pretty blouse. Even as she placed a kiss on Arthur’s cheek, her predatory gaze was fixed on Merlin, who found himself searching fruitlessly for a shadow to sink into. The brunette squirmed under her attention.

“Morgana!” Arthur said, his face alight with eagerness. “This is my boyfriend, Merlin. Merlin, this is Morgana. My _sister._ ” He voiced this final word with a glee so infectious that Merlin couldn’t stop the elated giggle that bubbled up from his chest, bursting forth at an alarming volume. For a moment, the Pendragon siblings simply eyed him in confusion, before their own ecstatic laughter joined his lone voice and the sound of their joy reverberated around the hallway.

“I’m so sorry,” Merlin said between chortles, leaning heavily upon Arthur for support. “It’s just, you introduced the queen in the exact same way and it’s so unbearably sweet and I’m so _happy_ for you and - I just realised that I’m running my mouth in front of a princess.”

The paler man drew himself up to his full height and adjusted his jacket, struggling to tone down his hysteria against the amused smirk of said princess.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Merlin,” Morgana grinned, shaking his hand with an iron grip that would not be out of place on a prize fighter. “You seem to make my brother very happy.”

“I do try, your highness,” said Merlin with a bashful shrug, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he caught Arthur beaming at him unrepentantly.

“We’ll be having none of that honorific nonsense, thank you. I’m practically your sister in law already - it’s Morgana, or ‘you harpy’ if I upset you, or, if you have a death wish, Morgs,” she said, slotting herself between the two and hooking her arms through theirs like Dorothy and her companions on the Yellow Brick Road. In comparison to everything else which had taken Merlin’s life by storm recently, an unexpected trip to Oz and the subsequent musical number would potentially prove the least surprising.

Chittering away blithely as she dragged the men down the hall, Morgana immediately proved herself to be a pocket-sized powerhouse, and Merlin silently wished Gwen knew where he was at this precise moment: the two women would get on like a house on fire. She led them into a small, wood panelled dining room which was, by palace standards, homely and unassuming. The table was laid neatly (with no more cutlery than Merlin could handle, he realised with a flood of relief) and the room was softly illuminated by candlelight. Igraine beamed at them as they entered, rising to embrace Arthur and then Merlin in turn.

“I can tell this is a sight I will never tire of,” she sighed thoughtfully, looking between her two children and Merlin, who basked in the warm glow of simply being included.

Finally, all attention turned to the man seated at the head of the table, surveying the scene with interest. There was steel in his eyes, Merlin noted, although his expression was not unkind. Uther Pendragon struggled to his feet and held out one huge, paddle-like hand for Merlin to shake. The younger man detached himself from the little unit and stepped forward to clasp it, dipping his head in a small, respectful bow.

“Your majesty,” he murmured. A trickle of unease tingled down Merlin’s spine as the king held his gaze, searching his eyes for any hint of treachery, dishonesty or mal-intent. Before he had even spoken a word, Uther had asserted himself as someone not to be trifled with. “My name is Merlin,” Merlin continued, forcing his voice out from behind clenched teeth, “Merlin Emrys.”

“Delighted to meet you, Merlin. Emrys? That’s an unusual name. Familiar,” Uther queried, the edges of his face losing some of their distrust.

“Yes, your majesty. I believe you all knew my father, Balinor. He was a driver for you before he passed away,” answered Merlin, standing a little straighter with pride. Any hostility which had lingered in Uther’s glance evaporated, and was replaced by something that could be akin to fondness. The king clapped a hand to Merlin’s shoulder with such force he almost stumbled.

“Of course! He was a good man, Balinor. I remember him well - he was a fine man, very fine indeed. I was so very sorry to hear he’d passed.” Uther smiled sympathetically, before adding, “You have a look of him, you know.”

Blessedly, Merlin was saved from replying by Arthur, who wound their fingers together and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

More pleasantries were exchanged between father and son before everyone took their seats and dinner was served promptly. The dishes were sumptuous, and out of the corner of his eye Merlin watched as Arthur seemed to ascend to a higher plane of existence with every morsel which passed his lips. Seeing the blonde like this, so relaxed and contented as the conversation flowed around him, it was difficult to remember that there had been a time in the not too distant past when Arthur had been forced to beg for even the meanest fare, or to accept charity when it so wounded his pride.

Once the starters had been cleared, Arthur’s eyes all but rolled back in his head in ecstasy when they were each presented with some kind of herb crusted chicken, roasted vegetables and the most luxurious potatoes Merlin had ever seen.

“So, Arthur,” Uther began, taking a sip of his wine, “we wondered if April may be a good time to introduce you to the public?”

Coughing, Arthur looked up from his plate. Merlin felt the dread rolling from him in waves, and saw the way his fingers twitched into a fist. “April? Why April?”

“Your birthday is in April - perhaps we could announce the news then? Scotland Yard should be able to provide us with some information by then, and more than anything else it gives us time to be together as a family without reporters at every gate,” the king explained. Under the table, Merlin pressed his foot alongside Arthur’s in an attempt at comfort. Two pairs of blue eyes locked together as Arthur quirked an appreciative smile, skimming his fingertips across the back of Merlin’s hand.

“I had an idea about that, actually,” the blonde said slowly, the tremor in his voice mostly hidden to all but Merlin. “Could we break the story in Merlin’s paper?”

“ _What_?” Merlin spluttered, choking on the wine he’d just inhaled in surprise. “My paper?”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” Igraine cried, ignoring the look of abject horror on Merlin’s face.

“It’s rather unorthodox, I’ll admit, but I like it. It has a wholesomeness about it. ”

“Merlin has written a story about you before, hasn’t he? What a wonderful follow up.”

“I read the article this morning, he does have the flare for - ”

“Poor Merlin looks rather like he’s about to have a hernia, if anyone cares,” Morgana observed dryly, cutting over her father and pointing a forkful of honey roasted carrot towards where Merlin’s pale face had turned an unflattering shade of puce.

Arthur slid a protective hand around to settle at the nape of Merlin’s neck, turning to his lover with a questioning look. His blue eyes shone with concern, and Merlin gasped enough air into his lungs to speak.

“Please don’t think I don’t want to. I’d be more than honoured,” he said softly, rasping a little. “I really would. I just - you’re really happy to trust me with this? It’s not like I write for The Guardian or The Times, or whatever. It’s the Central London Echo,” he finished lamely. Merlin curled in a little on himself at the admission, picking nervously at an invisible thread on the linen tablecloth. Arthur’s thumb left a trail of fire where it worked back and forth across the skin of his neck, comforting them both.

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to write about me,” Arthur responded, turning his body awkwardly to face Merlin more fully. “Not the first time, anyway. I trust you with my life.”

Uther paused, observing the soft-voiced exchange, before interjecting, “Arthur trusts you, and I trust his judgement. He is not my son for nothing.”

“Plus, you’re Balinor’s son,” Morgana nodded without looking up, still making her way through the pile of vegetables on her plate. “I was young, but I remember I liked him. He always had sweets hidden in his armrest for me.”

“And if I remember rightly, your mother is a delight, too. I only met her once, but I see a lot of her goodness in you, Merlin,” Igraine finished.

Overwhelmed, Merlin could not suppress the tears which pricked at the corners of his eyes. Though his vision blurred, he cast his wondering gaze around at the family before him who’d never seemed more royal than when bestowing such kind words, before settling upon the beautiful, expectant face which lingered just inches from his own. Arthur’s eyes seemed to sparkle in this light.

“Will you do it?” Arthur asked, his voice little more than a whisper. Merlin’s reply was strained.

“Do I have a choice?”

Arthur laughed lightly, a sound which was echoed by the others around the table. “Not really, no.”

“Then I suppose I will, yes,” sighed Merlin with what he hoped was a long-suffering air, although he knew in his heart he seemed more fond than exasperated.

From then on the conversation continued easily once more, laughter flowing as easily as the wine which seemed to appear miraculously in Merlin’s glass before he’d even drained the previous one.Arthur had begun a rather dangerous game of footsie below the table, his pupils dilated in the low lighting; when the other three were locked in a fierce battle over the last slice of cheesecake, the prat had the gaul to wink at Merlin and swipe his tongue across his spoon with a predatory grin. The sudden heat of Arthur’s palm high on his thigh was enough to finish him off, and Merlin started away with a jolt.

“I’ve given my mum Percy’s number,” he squawked, too tipsy from the wine and turned on by Arthur’s flirting to care that four pairs of eyes now regarded him as though he were sprouting a second head. Arthur, that bastard, had the cheek to smirk knowingly at him before allowing his face to collapse into a mask of genuine confusion.

“You gave your _mum_ Percy’s number?” he asked. “What for? Is she… in the market for a toy boy?”

It took Merlin far longer than it should have to wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Oh, good God, no! That’s not what I meant! They’re starting up a new kind of halfway house scheme - anyone who visits the shelter can put in a request and then mum will give them a job and a bed for a bit, help them back onto their feet, like she did for you,” he explained. “They’re hoping to be able to get funding to expand it outwards, you know? Get more hotels in the area involved.”

As Uther excused himself to take a phone call, the others fell to talking about the plan. It came to pass that after only a few minutes Merlin had handed over his mother’s email address, the location of the shelter and the promise of a face to face meeting within the month. The subject of Arthur’s chosen charities was also broached, and the discussion turned to various homeless charities, Help for Heroes and the spectrum of LGBTQ+ organisations who’d be champing at the bit to have him as their figurehead.

“You can bet that Attitude Magazine will be ringing the phone off the hook for a photoshoot as soon as it comes out you’re with a man,” Morgana grinned as she worked her way steadily through a box of after dinner mints. “You’re going to look like a pair of models on the cover. I can see it now: the sun and the moon, body paint… red and gold for Arthur, blue and silver for Merlin… Do you think they’d let me style it?”

“ _Body paint_?” Arthur and Merlin spluttered in dismayed unison as the princess fell about laughing. Igraine rolled her eyes and shoved her daughter lightly, assuring the two young men that they would have full authority on what publications they gave interviews to and who they allowed to take official photographs. A curl of anxiety settled in Merlin’s stomach as he realised that there would indeed be a time when his own face was staring back at him from the front pages of magazines and newspapers, whether he wanted it or not.

For the first time, the reality of Arthur’s identity and the consequences it would bring weighed heavily upon his shoulders. Merlin had always enjoyed the freedom of being just another face in the crowd, of being utterly anonymous in this heaving metropolis. He watched Arthur quietly as he talked animatedly with his mother and sister; the sweep of his jaw, the pout of his lips, the flutter of his lashes, and wondered if there was anyone else he’d willingly give up his life for. As a blinding, goofy grin was turned upon him, the way his heart ceased to beat for a solid three seconds told Merlin that no, there was not. His own hand was suddenly enveloped by Arthur’s, and the tenderness of the fingers which brushed his palm was enough to convince him that this idiot might just be worth the upheaval. 

“Are you okay? You’ve gone quiet,” Arthur asked, leaning his head close. Smiling, Merlin chanced a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, ignoring Morgana’s squeal of delight.

“I’m just sleepy. I think the wine is getting to me,” he admitted. His eyelids had indeed grown heavy, and his imagination was filled with soft pillows, a warm duvet and Arthur’s dead weight slumped half atop him, drooling on his shoulder.

Just then, the king re-entered. His face had taken on an ashen pallor, and he was flanked closely by his two closest bodyguards - the tiny but apparently deceptively spry Cedric on one side, and the nasty looking hulk known as Valiant on the other. Valiant’s eyes settled on Arthur, and Merlin felt his hackles rising in an unmistakable premonition of distrust.

“Aggravaine has been found,” Uther said weakly, allowing his bodyguards to prop him up where he stood. “Valiant traced him to a small cottage in the middle of the Forest of Dean. He’s in custody now.”

—

Arthur’s dreams were more troubled than usual that night. Merlin awoke several times to find him sweating and staring at the ceiling, covers tossed back despite the chill in the air. At one point, the space next to him was empty, and a surge of panic buzzed through his veins before he spotted the figure at the window, staring down at the street below.

“Can I help?” Merlin asked as he crossed his tiny bedsit to wrap his arms around Arthur’s waist from behind. He rested his chin on one broad shoulder and drew the larger man tight to his chest, comforted by the absentminded way Arthur wound their fingers together.

“This is help enough,” he replied, turning his head awkwardly to press a lingering kiss to Merlin’s temple. “I’m sorry for waking you,” he added gruffly, his voice muffled in a birds nest of black hair. The brunette’s answering chuckle was calm.

“I’ve started to wake in the night quite often, even when you’re not here.”

“Maybe we’re just so in tune with each other that you wake when I do, even at a distance.”

“What a disgusting and yet oddly lovely thought.”

They lapsed into silence, breathing together into the darkness.

Outside, the street seemed to be alive with activity: cars, buses, cyclists and the most eager commuters striding down the pavement, coffee in hand, ready to plonk down into their office chair before the clock had even struck six thirty. It looked to be a drizzly day already, if the spattering of rain against the windowpane was anything to go by. Arthur’s mood seemed to mimic the weather, his anxiety palpable as it seeped from his very pores and choked him. A full body shiver trembled from his head to his toes, and Merlin’s arms tightened around him once more.

“Come back to bed?” he breathed against his neck, inhaling the soft, powdery scent of Arthur’s skin and the floral smell of his freshly laundered pyjamas. The excitement of the previous night had incurred their first real sleepover, when they’d fallen into bed together and promptly conked out without even the measliest instance of heavy petting. Merlin was almost glad of it now, as he felt the cotton pyjamas slipping soft under his fingertips as the blonde turned in his arms to face him, their foreheads now pressed together.

“I won’t sleep,” Arthur warned, allowing his lover to lead him towards the bed still locked in a cuddle, a slight, gentle smile curving his lips.

“Then neither will I,” shrugged Merlin as the back of his knees found the mattress and they tumbled down in a tangle of limbs. The breath was knocked from his body as Arthur’s weight landed on top of him, the haunted look in the blonde’s eyes lessening slightly to be replaced by amusement. “You’re _heavy_ ,” Merlin complained. “And getting moreso by the day. It’s good progress, I like it,” he added, allowing himself to be silenced by Arthur’s kiss. Their mouths moved together lazily in an embrace which lacked any finesse, and the first swipe of Arthur’s tongue was enough to wrest a needy groan from Merlin’s throat.

“Today it’s just you and me,” Arthur purred, sliding one hand up to grasp Merlin’s jaw. The thrum of arousal in his veins seemed to liquify Merlin where he lay; all he could do was allow his mouth to be plundered by Arthur’s questing tongue while doing his best to meet him halfway. “No palaces, no expectations, no work. Just us.”

His words were a little desperate, and through the fog in his mind Merlin caught the sharp edges of the anxiety which preyed on his partner’s mind.

“Just us,” he agreed, eagerly swallowing Arthur’s soft exhalation of desire before echoing it with his own. “Just us. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Honey, you've got a big storm comin'."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is evenly split between smut and plot. A chapter of two halves, if you will.

A few hours of napping, languorous kissing and slowly undressing one another later, Merlin answered the phone one handed, slapping lightly at Arthur’s thigh to quiet his protestations.

“Hello, Gwenny,” he grinned. From the mattress, Arthur stared up at him with an utterly scandalised expression, legs spread wide as Merlin’s nimble fingers teased between them. “No, I’m not busy, I can talk.”

“Oh, good,” Gwen sighed in relief from the other end of the line, “I wanted to tell you about Lance.” The poorly restrained excitement in her voice became all the more prominent, and it made Merlin grin as he breached Arthur’s entrance with one finger.

“Lance, eh? What’s happened? Did he finally make a move?”

Moving the phone to wedge between his cheek and shoulder, the brunette placed his other palm against Arthur’s belly to stop him arching completely off the bed; in an admittedly unfair twist, Merlin had gone straight for his prostate. Arthur tossed his arm across his face and bit his lip in an effort to keep silent while Merlin continued his conversation and simultaneously thrust the single digit at a leisurely pace.

“He did!” Gwen replied, clearly aiming for nonchalant and failing miserably. “He called me last night and asked if I wanted to catch a movie with him next weekend. Said he’s been dicking about over his feelings for too long and that he’s in love with me!” Her sentence ended on a pitch almost high enough for only dogs to hear, so shrill that Merlin winced and nearly dropped the phone.

“He’s in love with you? I’ve been telling you that for years! I’m so happy for you!” laughed Merlin, sliding a second finger inside Arthur’s tight heat and moving his other hand to cradle the velvet soft skin of his balls. He watched his lover writhe against him, cock solid and leaking against his stomach, and nodded along with Gwen’s rant.

“I _know_ you’ve been telling me for years, but when have I ever actually listened to you? I always thought that - wait, what was that sound?”

A guttural groan had wrenched itself free from the prison of Arthur’s mouth as Merlin kept up the lazy crook of his fingers at the sweet spot inside him, and Arthur looked up at him now, already soaked with sweat with eyes apologetic through his damp fringe. The blonde’s fingers came to settle over his own mouth, trembling in time with the twitch of his thighs against Merlin’s every thrust. The arm that had been slung over his eyes now draped above his head - Arthur didn’t even move to take himself in hand, only too glad to submit to Merlin’s ministrations.

“What sound?” Merlin queried after the briefest of pauses, holding Arthur’s gaze as he slid a third finger in to join the first two, rolling and squeezing his balls as he did so.

When she replied, Gwen’s tone was impassive. “Oh, nothing, I just thought I heard someone grumbling or something - I assumed you’d walked into the table or whatever.”

Choking back a laugh, Merlin said a silent thank you to whatever deity may be listening for making his best friend so innocent. He almost felt guilty for defiling his boyfriend while talking to her, but they only had a few hours left before they had to rejoin reality and so time really was of the essence. Arthur’s hips rolled with Merlin’s hands, his blue eyes never leaving Merlin’s as he bit down on the soft flesh on the back of his own fingers.

“Nah, love, you didn’t hear anything. I was reading the book you recommended before you called, actually.”

“No Arthur today? How is he?”

“How’s Arthur?” Merlin repeated with a breathy chuckle, hoping Gwen would hear it as the goofy breathlessness of new love and not the jolt of arousal it truly was. “Arthur’s fine. Fine and dandy. He’s out for a run just now. He does stuff like that these days, the prick.”

For good measure, Merlin stuck his tongue out, and Arthur just about managed a scowl before his back arched off the bed involuntarily.

“Stop it, you!” Gwen chided. “You couldn’t make it more obvious that you adore him. It’s very sweet.”

“He’s as much of an ass as ever.”

“So, perfect for you, then?”

“Yeah,” Merlin admitted softly, slowing the rhythm of his hand. He looked down at the loose-limbed figure before him, golden and panting and _his_. “Pretty fucking perfect for me.”

Gwen’s cooing noise made a blush rise to his face more readily than anything he’d been doing for the duration of their conversation. Flashing a warning look at Arthur to keep quiet, Merlin withdrew both of his hands and gripped his mobile with the fingers not currently slick with lube.

“You’re too cute,” Gwen sighed. “I hope Lance and I are as sickening as you two.”

“I’m sure you will be, you dope. I’m really sorry but I just realised I have to do the dishes before Arthur gets back. He’s so _prissy_ about things like that, would you believe it? He’s such a princess.”

“You’re dreadful. Pub tomorrow night?”

“I can’t, I’m in Cambridge on a story ’til Wednesday - shall we say then?”

“Sounds cool. Love you, you knob.”

“Amazing! See you then. Love you lots.”

Casting the phone away, Merlin finally leaned down to capture Arthur’s mouth in an absolutely filthy kiss, drinking in the long, low moan he emitted which seemed to last an eternity.

“You are a terrible, _terrible_ human being,” Arthur muttered, gasping as Merlin returned to his previous occupation of taking him apart. “I could’ve come just like that, you know,” he added with an insistent clench of his arse around the intruding fingers. “I was _so close_.”

“I know, that’s why I stopped,” Merlin laughed. Gently, he nipped Arthur’s luscious lower lip between his teeth before hauling himself upright and patting at Arthur’s hip, an indication to flip onto his front. With a complicity he only showed when ablaze with lust, Arthur obliged happily, allowing his lover to manhandle him onto his knees.

“ _Oh_ ,” he whispered as Merlin wrapped both arms around his torso and eased him back onto his slick cock until they were fully joined.

They remained still for a moment, Merlin relishing the fluttering of Arthur’s heart beneath his palm and the weight of him in his arms. Arthur’s thighs were already trembling again where he knelt, head lolling back onto Merlin’s shoulder, eyes closed and lips parted as he fought to control his breathing. The brunette smirked and held his lover tighter, latching his lips onto his neck and giving a slow, teasing thrust. A needy whimper escaped Arthur then, and he reached one quivering hand to tangle in the already mussed hair at the back of Merlin’s head.

“I love you,” he breathed, so quietly Merlin was almost half sure he hadn’t said it at all. He replied anyway, sighing the words straight into Arthur’s ear.

“I love you too.”

This position - both of them on their knees, slotted together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle with Merlin almost draped across Arthur’s back like a cloak - gave little room for movement, but it didn’t seem to matter. Arthur adjusted himself to brace forward slightly on one hand, while he wound his fingers between Merlin’s where his arm wrapped protectively around his body. When they eventually stared to rock together, Merlin’s free hand finally found Arthur’s erection. Vision blurring, he stroked it gently, smiling when it twitched in his hand and spurted out another bead of precome. Merlin caught Arthur’s earlobe between his teeth and nipped there for a while, until his rhythm was thrown off by the blonde whining loudly, seemingly torn between thrusting up into his hand or back onto his cock, his hole clenching for a moment in such a way that made Merlin see stars.

Before he knew what was happening, Arthur had somehow connected their mouths once again in a lazy approximation of a kiss: it was a slack jawed, open mouthed affair, Arthur’s hot breath all but punched out of him in time with Merlin’s every thrust. A bead of sweat trickled a sensuous path down Merlin’s spine as he quickened the pace of his hips and his hand: if the flexing of tendons in Arthur’s arm was anything to go by, he was close.

The blonde had gone silent, simply gaping dazedly at the side of Merlin’s face. His head seemed too heavy for his neck, almost, and he barely seemed able to hold himself upright against the tides of pleasure which reduced him to a shuddering wreck more and more with every moment that passed. Something in the crease between Arthur’s perfect brows told Merlin that it was any moment now, and so he began to piston his hips with abandon, chasing his own release as the tip of his prick brushed Arthur’s prostate with every pass, his hand a blur around his cock.

It took no-more than a minute for the final fragment of focus to slip from Arthur’s eyes where they bored into Merlin’s, his dreamy gaze turning glassy as he reached his climax. He seemed to shatter like glass, slumping against Merlin’s chest as he trembled through an orgasm so intense that he continued to spurt hot and slick over his partners fist long after his own limbs had given out. The iron grip around his waist appeared to be the only thing preventing him from collapsing face first into the mattress.

Only moments later, Merlin followed, hunched forward over Arthur’s slack form and burying himself to the hilt as he rode the wave. The blonde’s fingers fluttered around his wrist, too wrung out to do anything more than that and mouth absently along Merlin’s jawline with no real goal or intent. Like Arthur’s, the orgasm went on longer than Merlin expected, wringing everything from him before releasing him from its vicelike grip.

With a final primal grunt, Merlin let them both fall to the mattress, careful to avoid the wet spot directly beneath them. Slowly, Arthur’s bleary eyes struggled open. With Merlin still atop and inside him, it was an odd angle, and he exhaled a weak, exhausted chuckle.

“I think… you broke me…” he laughed. The movement jostled Merlin to pull out and roll to the side, casting his condom on the floor carelessly. With great effort he unfolded his form from the bed and padded through to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a damp flannel. Aftershocks still seemed to course through Arthur’s body as Merlin wiped him down, turning him this way and that with tender hands and a warm smile.

“It looked like you might have passed out for a second back there,” he said conversationally once they were all clean and cocooned together under the duvet, his head pillowed on Arthur’s chest.

“I genuinely think I did, you know,” admitted Arthur, a satisfied grin creeping onto his face. “I won’t even try to save you from your own ego on that one. Good job.”

“What can I say? It’s a gift.” replied Merlin with a hearty laugh. He walked his fingers up and down Arthur’s sternum as his lover continued to speak.

“I’m dreading having to do the next few days without you, you know. I feel a bit like Mia in the Princess Diaries. Prince lessons indeed. Just don’t let any suspicious looking Italian men come in and give me a makeover, yeah?”

“You _know_ that film?”

“I _love_ that film, but don’t tell anyone. On top of having to learning how to be a royal, I have to go for media training, and I have to choose decor for Clarence House, and I have to work out how I’m going to say goodbye to your mum _and_ how I’m going to tell your friends about all of this.” Merlin tried to interrupt, but Arthur was in full flow. “Even more than any of the above, I’ve got the knowledge that this Aggravaine guy is being interviewed today at some point and I just want to go down there and wring his neck for whatever part he had in all of this. If I wasn’t close to having a heart attack before, I am now. Fuck,” he panted, squeezing his eyes shut as though to keep all of his anxieties from spilling out into the world.

The young prince clung onto Merlin like a life raft. If the pads of Arthur’s fingers pressed a little too hard into the pale skin of his shoulder, Merlin didn’t complain, nor did he protest when he found himself yanked roughly into a desperate, bruising kiss.

“Not to add to your worries,” he murmured as Arthur broke away, “but you are going to have to tell them about the less rosy aspects of your life too, you know. Your nightmares, your mental health, you know? They’re your family.” Merlin tilted his head up to kiss him again, soothing away the sting of his words with the slide of his tongue. Arthur sighed into the embrace.

“I know,” he replied softly, “I just don’t quite know how. Will you be there with me for that?”

“You know I will.”

“It’s only three days, but I’m really going to miss you while you’re away.”

“I”m only going to Cambridge!” Merlin laughed, pleased as punch when Arthur’s answering grin was sunny.

“I'm aware, thanks! I’m a pathetic fool in love, what can I say.”

“And I’m not? Don’t worry,” he added with a wink, “I’ll send you as many naughty pictures as I can.”

—

For a Sunday afternoon, Scotland Yard was abuzz with activity once again. Aggravaine sat rigidly in the interview room, his limbs so tightly knotted together it appeared as though he may never unravel them again. Inwardly, he cursed that northern heathen who called himself _Valiant -_ what kind of a name was that? - and himself for being foolish enough to trust him. As soon as he was released, that two faced fool would get his just desserts, and no mistake.

For now, however, the Duke of Dorset was forced to remain imprisoned in this little grey holding cell, drinking tepid PG Tips tea by the gallon and hoping the historical nature of his indiscretions would be enough to see him pardoned.

So many years had passed since Nimueh. Three decades since their love affair had begun; since the seeds of their mutual undoing had been sown. He recalled how she’d looked the summer afternoon they’d first met at Uther and Igraine’s wedding - paler than a spirit, in a bridesmaids gown of vibrant cerise. She’d been beautiful, and he’d loved her. He loved her as much as he loathed her brother: Uther was an arrogant fool, overflowing with pride in knowing he’d soon be a king with an angel of a wife who would bear him sons to carry on the corrupt line of Pendragon.

If Aggravaine’s hatred was rooted in the behaviour of their grandfathers, well, that was neither here nor there. The dispute over titles which was apparently settled with a union of their houses still raged in Aggravaine’s breast, and he silently vowed to remember the old slight to his family for as long as he lived.

Nimueh had changed his mind, made him see that he’d been nothing but a foolish young man fighting against the many headed hydra of the British monarchy. She, in her quiet, clever way, had enlightened him to the fact that there was so much more to life than titles. Her frailty kept her hidden from the public eye, and he made every effort to care for her and protect her until the day they could marry. Twelve months after they’d met, and just six months into Uther’s reign, they’d approached this young, untested king for permission to do just that.

Permission which he’d denied. He used his sisters ill health as an excuse, citing Aggravaine’s youth and Nimueh’s fragility as reasons to wait. Uther had assured them that if in years to come their feelings did not waver, he would reconsider his position.

For months, they’d clung to each other in secret, meeting discreetly to talk and make love and plan the future they’d have as soon as they were able to run away. These days had been the most glorious of their lives, and they still burned fondly in Aggravaine’s heart.

Not long after Igraine had publicly announced her pregnancy, Nimueh privately announced hers, only to Aggravaine as they lay wound together in the roots of an apple tree. The slight swell of her belly was obvious through the thin material of her dress, and he’d panicked. He’d called her a witch and a demon and all manner of other terrible things, scrambling from her arms and running like the mere boy he was. He didn’t look back as she cried out for him, and it was only days later when he found her in a pool of her own blood did he realise what a fool he’d been.

Her body was never made to carry a child to term, and the stress of his betrayal had cut her to the quick and caused her to miscarry even sooner. With forgiveness he did not deserve, Nimueh accepted his apologies and swore him to secrecy: no one could ever known the danger she’d been in. The events seemed to have changed her, however. Her sweet nature hardened, and sometimes Aggravaine caught her regarding Igraine with unguarded envy bordering on hunger, the sight chilling him to the bone.

The moment it was announced tiny baby Arthur had gone missing from his crib only days after being born, Aggravaine hastened to the place of their meetings. Nimueh was not there, but she had left him a letter, explaining that the queen had stolen their son and so she’d taken him back and would hide with him until it was safe for them to return to the light.

Days passed before Nimueh returned without the child, the bags under her vacant eyes enough to confirm that she had seen the error of her ways. Over the course of the next few years, her health deteriorated rapidly and her death had followed soon after. With her final breaths she had confided in Aggravaine the location of the boy, and drew a promise from him that he would watch from afar.

When he’d realised the kind of people she’d left the boy with, he’d balked: notorious anti-monarchists, high ranking in a well documented group which demanded the abolition of the royal family. He knew in his heart Nimueh would not have known their true identities, but that did not lessen the pang of sympathy for the boy when he’d appeared on their front doorstep one night to reveal the nature of the child they harboured.

An exhausted looking detective roused Aggravaine from his reverie, breaking into the train of thought he’d been sure not to follow in more years than he could remember. The hatred he’d felt for Uther so long ago had once again flared within him, and it now had a twin flame in the way he burned to destroy his son, Arthur.

His sister always had deserved better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *whistles*


	20. Chapter 20

The knowledge that Helen and Thomas Owens were now on Interpol’s Most Wanted list was a revelation. The image of their faces flashing onto the screen rocketed Arthur towards the precipice of a panic attack, and only Morgana’s hand on his shoulder kept him from pitching off entirely into the abyss. His stomach writhed and twisted as he looked into the eyes of the man who had masqueraded as his father. Aggravaine’s confession and the subsequent information gathered about the couple made their treatment of him as a child almost inevitable; for the first time, Arthur saw his youth with a painful clarity that re-opened old wounds. The weight of hatred seemed to fester in him, and Arthur feared he would become like his uncle: the man whose negligence and selfishness had ruined the best part of thirty years of his life.

In the ten days since his arrest, Aggravaine had been charged with being an accessory to kidnapping, withholding evidence and inciting domestic terrorism, which he had done by sending regular funds to the Owen’s radical group in return for their continued discretion about their collective crimes. Within this time he had requested Arthur visit him on three separate occasions, all of which had been denied. No-one cared to visit, not even his sister the queen. The only person permitted to attend him was Valiant, on the premise of delivering messages of disgust from various members of the family (it seemed the king was not above pettiness).

Arthur’s hands balled into fists in his lap, wound so tightly his knuckles turned white. Shifting against his side, Morgana squeezed his arm in comfort.

“They’ll catch them, I know they will,” she murmured, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “We know they flew to Brazil. If they cross any land borders we’ll be notified immediately, but it’ll be a long game. All we can do is wait,” she added, curling closer and wrapping both of her arms around one of his in an awkward kind of cuddle. Arthur reached across to pat her hand.

“I know, it’s just so hard. Seeing their faces makes me so angry I could _scream_ ,” Arthur replied, leaning his head back against the soft leather sofa he’d requested for his room in the palace. Sighing, Morgana, shuffled herself upright and picked some lint from her joggers.

“Let me tell you that _that_ is something we’re going to talk about at some point, when you’re ready,” she said steadily, the gentle smile tilting her lips belying the force of her words. “But I won’t push you.”

Arthur allowed his eyes to flick to hers, the wave of panic subsiding when he found nothing but concern in her gaze and not a shred of judgement.

“I will tell you, at some point,” he nodded. “It sounds pathetic, but I need Merlin with me to do that. We agreed I’d tell you all together. Just…” he paused to pick at the skin around his shredded nails. “Just be aware that I’m not always okay, yeah? Sometimes I just need a minute.”

“Okay,” nodded Morgana as though it were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. “I’m here if you ever need me, alright? I’m not Merlin, but I hope you’ll trust me enough to let me help. Where is that lanky journo anyway?”

“I’m right here, Morgana,” came an amused voice from the doorway. “Thank you for that glowing description of my person, it really did wonders for my fragile ego.”

Merlin pressed a kiss to the top of Arthur’s head before loping into view. He tossed his bag into a nearby armchair then flopped easily down to the couch; his legs in a basket, the new arrival immediately reached for Arthur’s hands and began to smooth the tension out of them with firm, sure strokes of his thumbs.

“Mum sends her love,” he smiled, gifting Morgana with a smug wink when Arthur visibly sagged into the sofa cushions, relaxed. “She says she misses you. Apparently the flat is too quiet without you - I swear to God that woman likes you more than she does me, these days,” he added with a grin which Arthur returned readily.

“Well, who can blame her,” he quipped. His sister pinched him roughly for that, eliciting an undignified squeal which in turn made her cackle.

“Also,” continued Merlin, “everyone at the pub now thinks you’ve disappeared off the face of the earth because they haven’t seen you with me. They don’t believe me when I tell them you’re just busy - I’m not sure whether the truth is going to go down better or worse than them thinking I’ve somehow fucked up and you dumped me.”

“There’s no reason you can’t go and meet up with them, Arthur,” Morgana said wisely. “No-one knows who you are yet. You have a little over two months to do whatever you damn well please. To say I’m jealous is an understatement.”

“Father would never allow it,” sighed Arthur in response, smiling absently at Merlin as he shifted around to rest his dark head on his thigh, legs dangling over the arm of the couch. “Comfy there, are you?” he added with a bark of laughter, tangling his fingers in the mop of black curls.

“Yes, thanks for asking.”

“Idiot.”

“Prat.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Morgana interrupted, “I’m sure I can get around father. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, dear brother. I’m willing to bet that I can have you enjoying a pint at a little old man pub within the week. I’m almost sure of it,” she finished, an unsettling twinkle in her verdant eyes. Merlin squinted at her from his upside down position on Arthur’s lap, brow wrinkled.

“You’re the most frighteningly clever woman I’ve ever met, but is it treason to tell you that you scare the shit out of me?” he asked playfully. Even as Arthur flicked the top of his head in reprimand, Morgana tossed back her head in mirth.

“Oh no, Merlin. It’s not treason if it’s true. I think you’re very wise to be terrified.”

—

The bed felt much too large, even with Merlin’s warm body pressed against his back. Arthur snuggled deeper under the thick eiderdown, stealing a reluctant glance around the plush surroundings. He’d never seen so much crimson velvet in one place, nor so much ostentatious gilding and antique furniture. The decor he’d requested for Clarence House was to be much more muted than the room he currently occupied at Buckingham Palace, and he was glad of it: being in this room gave Arthur the peculiar sensation of being trapped inside an elaborate dolls house.

Merlin grumbled quietly in his sleep and pressed closer, his breathing deep and regular, coming in quiet, warm puffs against the back of Arthur’s neck. His nose was cold where he buried it just below Arthur’s hairline, and the blonde shivered. The cavernous chambers of the palace were notoriously difficult to heat, and leaving this cocoon of warmth to jog on a treadmill (since he was no longer allowed to jog outdoors - not without protection) for half an hour then call for breakfast did not sound like fun.

The stack of books on the bedside table was almost as tall as Arthur had been aged six, and the glare he shot at the offending tomes would have been enough to set them alight, had he been a real life Harry Potter. Volumes on politics, British history, diplomatic relations and the correct banquet etiquette lay piled one on top of the other, threatening and monolithic, bearing down upon him and whispering their entirely dull secrets into his ear. To their credit, the king and queen had offered their son a tutor in all things monarchy: a crash course of sorts in what it takes to be the Prince of Wales, and how to move seamlessly from total insignificance to being one of the most recognisable faces on the planet. As politely as possible, Arthur had declined, insisting he’d prefer to learn all he had to know alone. He much regretted the decision now, as he extricated himself from Merlin’s grip and pushed himself upright to read.

The apparently never-ending flux of his existence had rendered deep sleep almost impossible most nights, and so the new prince dozed fitfully instead, snatching up one book or another to bore him back into oblivion. The pale grey dawn outside the window being still too dim to read by, Arthur clicked on the bedside lamp and selected the book at the top of the pile: a particularly battered copy of ‘The British Royal Family: A History (1066-1954)’. With a sigh, he settled back onto his stacked pillows and chuckled quietly at the sprawling starfish shape Merlin had assumed, his long limbs splayed out in every direction, his hair a veritable birds nest.

In all fairness, Arthur posited to himself, there were plenty of things he was thoroughly enjoying about his new life, connection to his real family notwithstanding. Igraine and Uther had sat down on several occasions to work with him on a charity he wished to found, which would see help delivered to ex service people upon their exit from the military, with a special wing to deal with the wounded. His dearest wish was to prove to those like him that they still had worth, even if many aspects of society seemed determined to convince them otherwise. Arthur also relished the ability to have diplomatic reach in places he’d never even dreamed of; there were talks of state visits to various less developed countries, and even a kind-of-but-not-quite relief mission to Syria, if he could swing it... which he highly doubted he would, but it'd be something to focus on.

So tiny was the print of the book in his lap that Arthur reached across Merlin’s prone form to pilferhis specs from the opposite bedside table; he hoped vainly they’d help him decipher the minuscule lettering. Despite initially waging a fierce battle against the idea, Arthur’s boyfriend had acquiesced to wear his glasses more often when they were alone, admitting in the dead of night that his eyes were enjoying the respite from the strain of reading with his contacts in. Internally, Arthur had to acknowledge his request had been made because he found Merlin utterly adorable when he looked every inch the nerd he was, even if his outward concern was for his optical health.

As soon as Arthur slid the slim black frame onto his face, the world around him seemed to blur and pitch sideways. Squeaking in surprise, Arthur cursed loudly and flailed. Just how blind _was_ Merlin?!

“What the fuck are you doing?” a sleepy voice grunted to his right. Merlin squinted up at Arthur as he blinked owlishly down: even through the hazy fog of the lenses, the blonde could make out the other man sniggering. “Are you…” Merlin paused, pushing himself up onto his elbows, “Are you wearing my glasses?” 

“No!” Arthur replied stupidly. A long pause ensued, and only Merlin’s unrepentant giggles roused the prince to the fact he still wore the offending articles. With a spoiled huff, he removed them carefully and passed them back to their owner.

“Would you _look_ at this writing!” he squawked, thrusting the offending pages under Merlin’s nose so ferociously the other man twitched back to avoid bleeding out through a nasal papercut. “It’s _tiny.”_

_“_ Do you need an eye test?” Merlin asked as he struggled upright, perching the spectacles on his nose and peering at his partner, one humour-quirked eyebrow raised. Groaning in frustration, Arthur let his head fall back.

“Probably, yes. And I’m just so tired, Merlin. The words are like… I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like the letters are ants, and they’re wandering all over the page. I can’t focus my eyes any more than I can focus my brain at the moment,” admitted Arthur, closing his eyes to shelter himself from the softening of Merlin’s regard.

Sure enough, barely a moment passed before an arm was around his shoulders and he found himself pulled into a consoling cuddle.

“Did you sleep at all?” Merlin queried, face buried into the top of Arthur’s hair.

“A bit,” shrugged the blonde, curling in on himself and around Merlin simultaneously. “I wanted to read this bumf to fall asleep, but apparently my eyes have stopped working and you’re absolutely bloody _blind_ , which I’m definitely going to bully you about at some point when I have all of my faculties in working order.”

Arthur winced as Merlin poked him roughly in the ribs.

“You’re such a wanker,” the other man sighed, pressing a bruising kiss to golden locks before arranging a stray pillow in his lap. “Come on, lay your head here. I’ll read it for you - I’ll probably conk out too, if the contents are as dry as the title,” Merlin added, catching the book up with his right hand and using his left to soothe tiny circles on Arthur’s temple as soon as his head hit the offered pillow.

“I don’t want you to have to sleep sitting up, and if my head is too heavy - ”

“It’s fine, and it’s not.”

“ - and I’m meant to be getting up for a run in half an hour anyway - ”

“Skip it. It’s a Sunday, you’re going to sleep as late as you like,” Merlin chided, and even with his eyes closed Arthur could sense the tenderness of his smile. Allowing himself a deep exhale through his nose, Arthur visualised his muscles relaxing into the mattress.

“You’re a terrible influence,” he muttered, mesmerised by the point of heat created by the tip of Merlin’s finger. “I love you.”

“And I you, cariad. Now shush. I’m reading.”

“I like it when you call me cariad, you go all Welsh and sexy.”

“I _am_ Welsh and sexy. Now, if you’d kindly shut it, I’m going to begin.”

Contentment washed over Arthur in waves, as he listened to the soporific lilt of Merlin’s voice and the soothing brush of the pages as they turned. He snuggled closer to the comforting warmth next to him, locking one arm around Merlin’s hips and all but burying his face into the pillow upon his lap. It did not take long for his eyelids to grow heavy; the subject matter of the book was more interesting than he’d ever admit, but something about the steady cadence of the words Merlin intoned (in a much stronger Welsh accent than even Hunith had - he was definitely affecting it for impact) had Arthur falling quickly and easily into a dreamless slumber.

\--

A sharp rap at the door snapped Arthur from his sleep - how much time had passed? Although it felt like mere moments, the sunlight peeping around the curtains told him it had been much longer. Merlin continued to snore from his position propped against the headboard, hand hitting the mattress with a dull _thunk_ as Arthur carefully extricated himself from where he was nestled against that lithe frame he’d come to know so well.

Slipping out of bed with a silent, catlike grace, Arthur swathed himself in the lush burgundy dressing gown Igraine had selected for him and padded over to the door. He ran one hand through his doubtlessly dishevelled barnet in a fruitless attempt to smooth it, then opened it with what he hoped passed for a welcoming smile.

Cedric, the small, weedy man purported to be a truly lethal bodyguard despite his appearance, lingered in the corridor at a respectful distance, hands clasped behind his back and lips clamped into a thin line. Pondering the man before him, Arthur realised he must have some serious weaponry skills to guard the king of Great Britain and Ireland; skinny as he was, with those shrewd and cunning eyes, Cedric looked like more of a browbeaten sidekick than a formidable opponent. Still and all, the brow which he raised towards Arthur’s attire could fell a man at six paces, and he clearly knew it.

“My apologies for waking you, sire,” he began. His tone was clipped, the set of his jaw blatantly disapproving. “His majesty the king wishes to speak with you. He asked you to meet him in the winter solar at your earliest convenience.”

Absently, Arthur’s thumbnail began to scratch back and forth against the grain of the doorframe: something about Cedric set his teeth on edge.

“I haven’t been to the winter solar - could you give me two minutes to change then show me where it is? This place is a bit of a maze,” replied Arthur, his mouth stretching into an unmistakable grimace.

There was something slimy about Cedric which harkened back to the pervy schoolteacher at Harrow who’d tried to invite him back to his office for tea and biscuits at the end of the day one too many times. The same man who’d first made Arthur conscious and ashamed of his own good looks, and who’s lecherous staring had made the fifteen year old boy pull his tie that bit tighter to hide his throat, then his boater that bit lower to conceal his face.

At Cedric’s mute nod, Arthur hurried away to prepare himself. In short order he shucked off his pyjamas and tugged on some slacks and a warm jumper instead, woke a very groggy and grumpy Merlin for a kiss then tumbled back out to meet his guide, who appeared to have turned to solid stone in the hallway.

“Shall we?” Cedric posed with a sigh, turning on his heel without waiting for an answer. Even with legs substantially shorter than the prince’s, Cedric set a brisk pace as he took off down the corridor.

As they walked, he cast a fleeting glance towards the blonde from the corner of his eye.

“Your, ah, _partner_ seems like a nice chap,” he began “but you both need to learn how things are done around here.”

Before the words had even truly seeped into his understanding, Arthur bristled, barely keeping a lid on the anger within him which threatened to bubble over.

“Is that so? In what way?” Arthur countered, purposefully slowing his pace and thrusting his hands into his pockets to keep them from wrapping around Cedric’s scraggy neck and just _squeezing_. Dropping all pretence, Cedric stopped abruptly and leaned against the wall, picking at his dirty nails. This only served to anger Arthur further. Thus far, he’d only been treated with the utmost respect, and this flagrant disregard for his position served to quell the heat of embarrassment he usually felt at the deference showed him. The deference which was, whether he liked it or not, his birthright. As much as he blushed and cringed inwardly whenever the few staff who knew his identity bobbed a curtsey or addressed him by an honorific, there was no way in hell he would allow this little ratlike creature to get the better of him. He was Arthur Pendragon, after all.

“Please, don’t take offence, but you’re far too familiar with him,” Cedric told his fingernails. “He walks beside you, when he should walk behind.”

Arthur huffed a humourless laugh through his nose, clenching his fists and counting backwards from ten in his mind. “If you think he’d do that, then you’ve clearly never spoken to him.”

“I don’t need to speak to him to know he talks to you like you’re a piece of shit. Pardon my language, naturally.”

“No, I don’t think I do pardon you, Cedric.”

“Again, Prince Arthur, this is all for your own good. If you’re going to keep a man as a lover, you need to make sure to keep him in his place. He’ll have to put up and shut up when you marry a woman, and - ”

“I will _not_ marry a - ”

“ - talk a good game as your best friend to the rest of the world, while you plough him into the mattress every night.”

“How _dare_ you - ”

Cedric still ignored Arthur’s increasingly vociferous protestations, turning his eyes upwards towards his face and giving him a searching look.

“ _Unless_ , of course, it’s the other way around. It is, isn’t it? Look at your blush! That’s certainly a surprise… you look like such a top, too - Val and I were both wrong. How _delicious_! Imagine that being all over the papers: future king of England, fucked until he can’t walk by some provincial twink with an attitude problem. Oh, this is gold - ”

Time slowed. The final thread of Arthur’s self-restraint snapped. He lunged at Cedric, but it felt like wading through toffee, his limbs suddenly heavy as he raised one fist to beat the life from the little weasel. Before him, Cedric’s eyes widened in a pantomime of fright, looking from Arthur to something behind him, which in turn made his stupefied expression even more comical.

Suddenly, that something manifested itself as a pair of long, strong arms wrapped around Arthur’s waist in an iron grip, hauling him backwards and robbing his lungs of the air he needed to swear. Confused and gasped, he wondered when exactly Merlin had grown that strong - though not as weak as he looked while shrouded under his many layers, he would never have been able to restrain Arthur in full attack mode. Moreso, Merlin barely had an inch of height on him, so why was the shadow at his back so much more substantial?

“Arthur, leave him. He’s not worth it,” said a voice from nearby, as Cedric bolted in fright and Arthur himself was cast forward, coughing and massaging his ribs. The voice sent a shiver of recognition down his spine, and an echo of gunfire and bomb blasts erupted behind his eyes. Arthur turned slowly on the spot to look at the person who’d stopped him; the toffee he’d been wading through had turned to cement.

Six foot four inches of happiness stood silhouetted against the sun, smiling face haloed by his ubiquitous mane of strawberry blonde curls. The warm flare of unbreakable brotherhood in his chest, the prince slumped against the wall, weak with shock.

After a beat to collect himself, Arthur grinned. Leon grinned back. 


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, I'm thinking a maximum of three more chapters. I didn't want to rush anything so it's become drawn out and I know people are losing interest but don't worry, we're going to go out with a bang. 
> 
> This chapter is just a little friendship fluff and some filler, but I like it.

Leon looked far too pleased with himself as the king explained his plan, barely concealing a smug grin beneath the facade of polite interest. It seemed Uther Pendragon’s idea of a thoughtful gift hinged on a combination of digging through military records, screaming down the phone at the Ministry of Defence and offering a job to some curly-headed giant he’d never met. A top job. A job that involved Leon becoming Arthur’s security detail; on the sly, of course, until the formal announcement was made via Merlin’s article.

For his part, Arthur was dumbfounded. Pleased, of course, and more delighted than he could express to be reunited with the closest thing he’d ever had to a brother - but still, dumbfounded. Confused. Discombobulated. The prince found himself going through every synonym for befuddlement he could think of, purely to distract himself from the newest whiplash inducing situation (his neck would break, one of these days) and the unfulfilled rage which still simmered just below his skin, alongside the gnawing need to punch Cedric square in the jaw. 

His father regarded him expectantly, a faint crease appearing between his brows as though genuinely concerned for Arthur’s welfare.

“Arthur? Are you listening?” Uther asked, waving one skeletal hand to attract the attention he’d apparently lost. Startled, Arthur came back to himself.

“I’m so sorry, father. What were you saying?” he replied apologetically, glancing over towards his old friend. Ever the consummate professional, Leon managed to suppress the twitch of his lips below his tufty moustache, though his eyes did sparkle with amusement. With a long-suffering sigh which spoke of his joy at finally having a son who ignored him, Uther rolled his bloodshot eyes heavenward,

“I said you owe Morgana one hell of a thank you gift, my boy,” he began, popping some painkillers into his mouth. “She convinced me you should be allowed to lead a normal life until the announcement, and as always, she’s right. Your mother and I, however, want to keep you as safe as we possibly can. Leon here was a hard man to track down, but I managed it, and here we sit. He’ll go with you as your friend whenever you go out in public - ”

“But he’ll be carrying concealed weapons, am I right?” Arthur smiled, gifting Leon with the chance to giggle like an excited child, nodding. “Well, he’s saved my life once already. There’s no-one I trust with this job more.”

The wistfulness which niggled in Arthur’s chest mourned the premature loss of anonymity, but he forced it into a trunk in his mind and locked it tight: later, when it was just he and Merlin alone, they could unpack it together and talk it out. They could privately grieve for the experiences they would never have. Walking hand in hand through Hyde Park, for example, or getting absolutely hammered in the pub and being forced to get up and sing a karaoke duet of the Grease Megamix. For now, however, Arthur drew himself straight and set his shoulders. Leon knew what he was feeling, and gave him a small, stalwart nod from across the room.

They would be fine - they always were. They were brothers. Soldiers.

—

Apparently, all it had taken was an off the cuff remark from the new prince to bring the fires of hell down upon Uther’s slimy toad of a bodyguard. The king had been diplomatic in his handling of the matter, although the queen had begun to swear and rage almost immediately, screaming about how she’d cut the homophobe’s balls off and feed them to him (Morgana had clapped, Arthur had winced. _‘Maybe a few steps too far, mother?’_ ).

Cedric had taken his dismissal very poorly indeed, crumpling into a sobbing wreck in the middle of the sitting room. Arthur had watched with interest as Valiant swayed from foot to foot as he surveyed the scene, fingers flexing and jaw twitching. Were those _tears_ in the eyes usually so entirely devoid of human emotion that Merlin had bet fifty quid he was actually an android? It seemed the pair had been bonded more closely than anyone had realised, if the way the stoic Northerner shrank in on himself was anything to go by. He addressed Arthur even more infrequently than he had before, though now the contempt in his eyes was unguarded and direct.

The weeks which followed were peaceful and pleasant, as much as they could be. Aggravaine remained in custody, awaiting trial, and Arthur had decided he would finally agree to a visit once a court date had been set. The Pendragon family got better acquainted with each other, finally realising that while they got on famously a large part of the time, board game night would result in mayhem and quite possibly murder, so competitive was everyone but Igraine. Thankfully for all involved, they decided one smashed vase was far enough and that the event ought never be repeated.

Poor Gaius had been required to take several days off sick to restart his heart after a grinning Merlin had tossed a first draft of his work in progress article onto his desk, closing the door gently and weathering the storm of the old man’s questions and near fainting fits.

It had been agreed upon that Merlin would be introduced once the initial hoo-ha over Arthur had died down somewhat (a laughable thought, he’d said), and Arthur had beamed with pride when the brunette smiled warmly and nodded his assent to be known as the prince’s potential future consort. They had discussed this privately afterwards, and realised there was very little _potential_ about it - since Morgana had all but begged her big brother to accept his rightful place in the line of succession, Arthur would one day be king, and since there was no possibility of them ever splitting up, Merlin would be a consort. The idea had made them both laugh so hard they’d cried, facing aching from mirth, love-stained smiles evident even over FaceTime.

Merlin tried not to think too much about the things he’d be giving up, and only spent one particularly pitiful evening crying on Hunith’s shoulder over the career he’d worked so hard to build. He’d waved the half empty bottle of wine around with dangerous force, decrying the fact he was giving up everything for a _boy_ and how if he’d just stayed with Freya instead of giving her his blessing to run away with Will, they’d already be two kids, a house and a dog deep by now. Ever the pragmatist, his mother had stroked his hair and told him he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to, and that Arthur would surely understand if Merlin wanted to distance himself from the whole situation.

The young man had only cried harder for the mere mention of not having Arthur by his side for the rest of his life. To his drunken mind, the thought had seemed as painful as having each of his limbs torn off then being beaten with the bloody stumps, and so Hunith had wisely chosen that time to pour him into the old single bed with an exasperation only Merlin could inspire.

Arthur and Merlin spent as much time together as possible doing the most insignificant things, Leon trailing a respectable distance behind. They brunched together in Covent Garden, bought their weight in doughnuts from Bread Ahead in Borough Market, bought day seats for the theatre, took a pedal boat down the Serpentine, wandered through the cherry blossoms in Greenwich Park and got thrown out of the National Gallery for making fun of the artwork too loudly. As well as this, they made sure to be with their friends in public as often as humanly possible, taking care to be as obnoxious as they could while there was still no danger of paparazzi lurking around. They drank at the pub as one collective, met at Gwen’s cafe for lunch, Gwaine cut Arthur’s hair once again - all the while, Leon was nearby, a comforting and watchful presence.

To no-one’s surprise, Leon fit well within the social circle. He got on famously with everyone, easily slotting into the role of big brother even as he nursed a pistol in his jacket and a knife in his boot. The first time he and Merlin had met, an entire sixty three minutes after he’d stopped Arthur strangling Cedric, the younger man had gathered him up into a bone-crushing hug with repeated thanks for Arthur’s life. It had taken a good while to prise Merlin away to allow Leon to get on with his day: apparently, secretly planning security for the impending investiture of a very young and very _green_ royal was a rather time consuming task.

—

With just one week to go before Arthur’s birthday and the release of Merlin’s article, a war council of sorts had been formed in Merlin’s tiny flat. All of his friends had been summoned to a gathering he refused to elaborate on, and every single nosy bugger among them had accepted the invitation. He’d made sure to come prepared with a stack of NDAs and three crates of beer - his friends were good eggs, but the news that Merlin, Arthur -and by extension, Leon - had been lying by omission for a full four months was bound to go down like a lead balloon.

Merlin watched as Arthur fidgeted anxiously with the collar of his shirt, his eyes fixed upon a crack in the plaster on the opposite wall. The blonde started violently as Merlin smoothed across his tight shoulders, barely relaxing as he turned to face his partner. Merlin could not contain his smile at the pitiful downturn of Arthur’s lips.

“It’s not going to be that bad,” he whispered, poking his tongue out at Gwen as she watched them curiously from where she sat plastered to Lance’s side. With one brow arched, Arthur’s voice was diamond hard.

“Are you sure? Because I’m fairly certain I’d feel like I’d been cheated, if I were in their shoes,” he replied. “I’ve been thinking about it for days and I have no idea what to say to them.”

It was Merlin’s turn to raise his eyebrow - subtlety was not his beloved’s strong point.

“Is this you asking me to tell them for you?” he smiled, exhaling softly at Arthur’s reluctant nod.

“I thought maybe you could just…give them copies of the article? I printed some out.”

“So you did come up with a way to tell them?”

“Well, yes, but it’s easier to have you hand them out, as they’re your words. And, more to the point, your friends.”

“I think you’ll find they’re _our_ friends now, you prat. Also, they might be my words, but it’s your life - still, if it is what my lord commands.”

“Oh, do shut up, Merlin.”

The group were sprawled lazily around the room, some of them slouched on the floor or draped across the end of the bed. Only Leon stood: he hovered near the door feigning nonchalance while keeping an eye out for insurrection. His heart suddenly having migrated to his mouth, Merlin gulped loudly before calling for everyone’s attention. Five pairs of inquisitive eyes turned towards him with rapt interest; they knew something was brewing, and they were each eager to find out what. He explained that he had a copy of his latest article for them to read before anyone else, a real exclusive, and that it would be a career maker.

Arthur, the coward, slipped into the bathroom and locked the door as Merlin began to hand out the printed proof copies of the three page article, each one emblazoned with the headline ‘ _The Royal Struggle Ends: Kidnapped Prince Found at Last’._ Percy, Lance, Gwaine, Gwen and Elyan erupted into a cacophony of congratulations purely upon reading the title, but Merlin shushed them and urged them to read on. He half wished he was locked in the bathroom with Arthur.

Merlin watched as his friends, these dear people who had got him through so much, perused the words which he’d poured his whole heart into for weeks. He saw the first furrow of a brow appear - it seemed Elyan, the fastest reader, had reached the part in the fourth paragraph where Merlin described the background of the hitherto unknown prince, who sounded an awful lot like Arthur.

By the time Gwaine gasped audibly upon reading Arthur’s name in the tenth paragraph, a tear slid down Gwen’s cheek upon finding the photograph of him on the second page, staring off into the middle distance looking strong and haunted and beautiful and every inch the future king he was.

“Is he hiding?” Lance asked quietly, never raising his eyes from the paper as he learned of Aggravaine’s treachery. At each stage of the writing process, Merlin had met with the Pendragon family as a whole to agree upon what he could and could not touch upon: it seemed they were happy for him to deliver an uncharacteristically no holds barred account of events, for which he was glad. It would humanise them.

“Yeah,” Merlin replied, picking at a thread on his jeans, “I think he thinks you’re all going to hate him - hate _us_ for not telling you sooner.”

“I mean, it was a bit shit of you, mate,” Gwaine nodded, “But I get it. He needed time.”

“This is _huge_ ,” Percy agreed, “How’s he been coping? I can imagine it’s been hard for him.”

“For you both,” interjected Gwen, tears still shining in her eyes as she regarded Merlin with some unreadable expression.

His heart retreated from his mouth, but became lodged in his throat as five warm, open faces smiled towards him. They did not feel betrayed, he realised. Hurt, perhaps, which was entirely understandable, and not a little confused, too, but still - a much better reaction than either he or Arthur had expected. Merlin noticed Leon’s smug ‘I told you so’ smirk out of the corner of his eye, and filed it away for when his real job was revealed. His eyes stinging, Merlin turned away to tap gently at the bathroom door.

“You can stop counting backwards from ten thousand, they’re all finished. There will be no regicide committed tonight,” he said softly to the wood of the door. From inside the bathroom there came the unmistakable sound of Arthur gesticulating wildly and knocking everything off the shelf into the sink.

“Sorry,” the blonde muttered as he poked his head out, closing the door quickly behind him so that Merlin barely glimpsed the carnage he’d created in his haste. “So…any questions? The floor is open,” Arthur added, leaning back against the wall as though dearly hoping to fall straight through it.

Just as Merlin had expected, Lance was the first to speak. His tone was measured and even, his dark eyes ablaze with the goodness that emanated from his very skin.

“I understand, Arthur,” he began, “you have faced so much upheaval in the last few years. It’s only fair that you have some private time to get your head around things.”

“Thank you, Lance. That means a lot to me.”

“I think it’s pretty fucking cool, if I’m being honest,” Elyan grinned, eyes twinkling even as his face fell. “Fuck, can I say fuck in front of a member of the royal family? Shit, I said it again. Fuck!”

Leon guffawed at that, tossing his curly head back and chortling merrily. Some of the tension finally eased from Arthur’s body, Merlin noticed, and he discreetly hooked their pinkie fingers together for support.

“Well, I think it’s insane.” Gwaine rolled his eyes heavenwards and brandished his bottle. Upon seeing Merlin pale, he clarified. “No, like, a good kind of insane, you know? _Plus_ , if I’m not very much mistaken… Leon is your bodyguard, no?” The Irishman asked, puffing out proudly as the man in question flashed a nod and a glimpse of his ID card.

“Arthur and I went to Harrow at the same time then served in Syria together,” Leon explained, apparently oblivious to the pained twinge which crossed his friends face. “We got into a fair few scrapes then lost contact when Arthur was repatriated. Arthur’s father - that is to say, the king - found me pushing papers at the MoD and asked me to protect his son. What else could I say but yes?”

“More fool you,” Gwaine quipped, though his words had no heat behind them.

“You’ll laugh at me for saying this, but I always thought there was something about you, mate,” Percy smiled. “This doesn’t feel like as much of a shock as it should.”

The men continued to throw questions at Arthur and he fired increasingly confident answers back, leaving Merlin free to lock eyes with Gwen once again. Her silence would normally speak volumes, but the way she stared between Merlin and Arthur was unfathomable. A wriggle in his stomach told Merlin she was more angry than she was letting on, and he mouthed a sincere apology towards her from where Arthur clutched his hand like a man drowning. Gwen rolled her eyes and plucked her phone from her pocket.

Within moments, Merlin’s own device buzzed. He could feel Gwen’s eyes weighing heavily upon him as he read her short, concise message.

_I’m not mad at you, idiot. I’m just worried. Are_ you _okay? This is massive._

His first instinct was to fire off a text to the affirmative, but then Merlin paused to take stock, still refusing to meet Gwen’s eyes. He was okay, wasn’t he? Sure, his life had been turned on its head and then propelled out of orbit in the last few months, and indeed the rest of his life looked to be a lot more challenging than he had intended.

It was only when Arthur released his hand and slid an arm around his waist that Merlin knew that yes, he was fine now and would continue to be, as long as he had this.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Arthur smiled, eyes searching the lines of Merlin’s face for any hint that he was troubled. In response, the brunette leaned in for a sweet, lingering kiss which made all of their friends groan.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” Merlin explained to an even louder chorus of melodramatic retching. Gwen’s soft sigh was like music to his ears when it reached him, and he half turned his head to wink in her direction. Her answering smile was broad.

The group spent the rest of the evening in companionable conversation, laughing loudly and bantering back and forth. Even Leon had relaxed to the floor when he realised that Arthur didn’t require Gwaine to be shot for nicknaming him ‘princess’. Merlin leaned back against Arthur’s chest, smiling hazily at the people sprawled around him.

He should have realised that they wouldn’t care a jot about Arthur’s change in circumstances. As far as they were concerned, he was still the same pompous, over-inflated idiot with a gorgeous face and a heart of gold that he had been when they’d first inducted him into their little clan. Merlin had no doubt they’d all make a new WhatsApp group chat and freak out about it the next day, but for now they were proving themselves to be the best of the best. They each signed their NDA without complaint, and promised to be present at Arthur’s investiture, which was planned for the end of April.

As the evening drew to a close and they began to file out, each person had a kind word for their new prince, and a hug for Merlin. Gwen left last, reaching out to cup Arthur’s cheek in her work-callused palm.

“I’m so glad you have found what you’re looking for, Arthur,” she said, guiding him down to kiss his forehead. “You deserve happiness. And as for you, Merlin…” The man in question blanched slightly, afraid she’d give him a slap for lying. “I understand. You know where I am if you need me - either of you. I love you both so much and I am _so_ happy for you.”

Tears had sprung to her eyes as she fell into Merlin’s outstretched arms, and he nodded to Lance who had doubled back to find out what was taking her so long. With a chuckle, he passed his friend off into the arms of her boyfriend (hadn’t _that_ caused a stir) and closed the door. Even Leon had said his goodbyes, content in the knowledge that Merlin wouldn’t try to smother Arthur in his sleep. Not yet, at least.

The man in question was sitting in the battered old armchair, nose already buried in the copy of _Harry Potter_ which Merlin had been reading the first time he came over. He looked so at ease, with his feet tucked underneath him and the shine of his hair bright in the glow of the reading lamp at his back.

Merlin felt warmed by the sight. He really was going to be okay.


End file.
